Sunday, March 11

• The way sometimes you can't stop eating junk food, even though you're not enjoying it. It's like an automatic motion of the hand.
• The familiar faces in cafes, and not knowing if you should say hello or not
• The intersticies of light, breaking through the dark monolithic shape of the trees

• The way the late afternoon light bounces off the parked cars and the path, making them otherwordly

• The strange overlapped spaces of the bus mirrors. In one, a closeup of a woman's face. In another, my feet overlapping a stranger's feet. In the last, the driver seems to be watching me.

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