— 2005 —
A hot August morning and we lay on top of the bedsheets in a pile of body. You got up to take a call and I looked at my legs on the whiteness.
Summer in the city.
Outside the window, a bird settled on the nearby guttering. It was as free as a bird.
Double portraits are always the hardest, you said as you walked back in. The lens has to settle for something. It has to choose one thing or another. An eye. A coat button. A parakeet.