This week, I’ve been thinking about pictures. I’ve been dragging them from between the pages of books and unopened drawers. There are black and whites of parties featuring games like beer pong and toss the littlest person in a blanket trampoline. There are pictures filled with protest crowds. One person is always absent: me.
One of my old friends used to call me the paparazzi because I had the habit of taking so many photos. I never do it anymore, though. I don’t even know where m camera is. I should, though. Perhaps next week.