Sgt. Pepper proudly faces the world. Its large, stoic monitor boldly looks whatever comes its way square in the face, the unlit grayness nicely contrasting with the white of its curved frame, unfulfilled possibilities within. Dusty, pushed back on the table, it has not been used recently. ‘Journalism Rm. 134’ is written above the monitor by its name, politely asking to be moved to its correct room, but faded and scratched so that only those paying close attention know where it belongs. The perfect circles below the monitor have not spoken in a while, and the mismatched keyboard has quietly gathered dust. Silently, uselessly, Sgt. Pepper awaits its next task as the world goes on around it.