The maps I find help. I was lucky enough to bring a red pen with me; I can mark the doors so I don’t get lost. I fold the maps as carefully as I can, I have to unfold them more often than not.
I must record my journey, my thoughts along the way, clues. Should anyone else stumble upon Silent Hill, I want them to know someone else understands what they are going through, and perhaps they can get out.
There is no symbolism here, no computerized rips, no encyclopedic knowledge of this town. There is a man, with paper and a pen. And infinite patience…