I have lots lots lots to write about, but it's late, I can't think and I dealt with idiots for most of the day. The evening is a steambath, a tropical malaise, all the young yuppies eating fancy pizza outside in designer tanktops. The sound of chainsaws from this morning. Flies over shrinkwrapped meat. "Emotional athleticism": the word tossed around last night at The Phone Booth, a place you should only go when you want to force the hand of fate, or nonchalantly make momentous decisions.
I found a photo that made me happy and was from a party that was, by and large, "fun". A lot can be told from a photo. I think this captures the narrative of a high point in the evening.
I like the placement of the hands in this photo: and the look on my face that says, "I am resigned to a curious fate."