I have noticed that I often enjoy fixating on the smallest of them. This ski lodge in New Hampshire where we are staying is one. It’s not a sad place, necessarily. It was built with an alpine theme in the 1930’s by an Austrian baron who was looking to avoid the war. In the lobby there are photographs of the lodge from that era: quartets of straight couples lean over their drinks and smile; children ski through the legs of large plywood cut-out animals; Lucille Ball stands outside in leggings and a mid-length fur coat. It looks like it was exceptionally cozy here back then. After the war was over the baron went back to Austria, and at some point the hotel rooms were converted into condo units and the lodge was turned into a time share. Somewhere in the period between then and now most of the coziness was drained out of this place. What used to be the restaurant and lounge can now be found by following signs for “the wifi room.” All the furniture and the decor in the wifi room remain unchanged from when it was a bustling social hub. The lights in the room tend to be off, and there is a teenager wearing headphones, with a glowing bluish face, talking in a very loud voice to someone who isn’t there. “Pick up the lantern, Jeremy, it’s going to give you extra force. Okay, I’ll get it for you. Here comes a creeper!!” There is the distinct feeling of something having been alive here and that it isn’t alive anymore.