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ciao manhattan

there is nothing for a while. he is lying sideways shirtless and defeated. i'm poking his back with a dull switchblade. the BQE vibrates besides us inconsolably, inconsolable.



i love vintage edie portraits. no matter how out of focus or overexposed or improperly lit there still radiant, however, i guess that is more of a testament to her rather than any photographer.





chapter one is finished.


what's on your christmas list? i just want books and fuzzy socks.