no, really

I was out in the back of my complex, in the large grassy knoll known as the "pet exercise area," when I looked up. It slopes down a bit from the building, which means that from where you stand you can see into the first-floor apartments, but only the top half of their living room walls and the ceiling. So it's dark out, Truman is sniffing around old piles of poop, and I sort of look up into a nearby apartment, my curiosity piqued by the fact that they have a series of ten or twelve black-framed photos hanging on the wall, much like we used to at Highland.

I look closer. They are all of a baby.

The same baby.

Wearing ten or twelve different sailor outfits.