Want. Want. Want.

California and back, again.

Things are kind of slow. I feel like I’m still on vacation. Kick me in the pants, please. I neeeeeed it.

Brooklyn is suddenly so clean.

I’m here, you’re there. Now what?

Every morning, this is what I’m going to tell myself.

That fly wasn’t supposed to be there but he was there and it was okay cause it was cool. Hey fly.

Suddenly the world seems such a perfect place, with a donut in your hand.

Like Hot Cheetos and lime seltzer.

What are you waiting for? Break out the good china for once, damn it!

There is no such thing as etiquette on the Lucky Star bus. I wonder if my phone conversations are as stupid as everyone else’s? Answer is yes, but you’re still talking too loud.

1. View from the Golden Gate Bridge. The water kept calling me to jump in, eery.
2. Outside my door back home. I keep cat treats in my pocket at times, just in case.

These have nothing and everything to do with each other.

Los Angeles and back last week. Always hated on the city but it’s kind of growing on me now.

I’m sorry I almost crashed your scooter. Next time I will try not to simultaneously accelerate and break all while jumping off. Please don’t hit me.

Luigi Ghirri, Self-portrait, 1976:

Aileen Son, Ode to Ghirri, 2009: