I drove my old, backroads path from Stamford to One American Lane in Greenwich. This was my old commute route. I sweet-talked a curmudgeon named Barry in the Security office to allow me to go up to the abandoned, locked, darkened third floor where Blue Sky Studios used to be.
I found the old wall of maquettes with all the niches empty particularly haunting. It was like visiting Chernobyl: a place frozen in time after a disaster. All the Disney-branded pandemic-era signage felt like I had dug up a time capsule.