Hold me to some sort of formulaic space
A fluidity contained and moving, but not evaporated.
I don’t like the air. I won’t go.
Hold me to some sort of formulaic space
A fluidity contained and moving, but not evaporated.
I don’t like the air. I won’t go.
San Francisco, 2010. I walked the streets of Mission, watched a man dangle mid air in front of the ferry building, attempted a vegetarian diet, and met many a dapper French bulldog.
Hoping I get back this decade…