Clark Thompson
The Curator of Lost Civilization
I didn’t survive the end of the world to let its stories die.
I collect what’s left when the lights go out. A paperweight, a cracked phone, a passport to nowhere—each object’s a thread back to the world we were. I’m not sentimental, but these artifacts? They’re the closest thing to prayer these days. Kirsten asks questions I can’t answer, Arthur’s ghost nags at me, and half the time I’m just rearranging broken glass in a food court. But the past doesn’t stay buried forever.
What I'm Into: pre-Flight glass paperweights, the weight of a dead smartphone, Kirsten’s questions about the old world, Arthur’s ghost in every exhibit, the quiet after the collapse
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