The shirt reads: “I SURVIVED CABIN 7.”
Around a large numeral seven: a metal bunk bed, a torch, a mosquito and a length of rope, drawn in teal, cream and rust.
The cabin number is unspecified enough to belong to anybody’s summer and specific enough to sound real. The mosquito is what makes the survival claim credible.
For camp counsellors, for anyone who spent a summer in one, and for a reunion where everybody remembers a different reason it was bad.
