Train tracks to homeless men, flower garden to Eden. I'd never shot in aught but a studio.
If I could do eye makeup like this . . .
Of course it always comes down to the same thing. All along I was writing about him, and all along I was lonely at school, a mess at work, and fidgety at home because I'm supposed to be hundreds of miles south of here, making my break . . .
Can I write a piece about you now that you've made it?
