Instead, it belongs to a rail-thin teenager who isn’t sure what he wants to do in life…
It falls on stone statues with both facial features and inscriptions worn indecipherable by centuries of exposure to the elements.
The same elevator music as ever. The same door chime. The same fluorescent light making everything shadowless and tinged slightly green.
Rainy season has come early this year, and so has my annual effort to catch up on my undeveloped film. I’m not sure how many rolls there are, but I’d guess about fifty rolls.
Breeze and birdsong alike flow liquidly, languidly into the apartment through windows thrown open wide to invite the atmosphere in.
A long metal pole has invaded my living room on several occasions. Supported with a camera tripod on one end and a light stand on the other, it is always festooned with sodden garments that didn’t make it inside before the rain arrived.
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