When you got nothing to do and you are a kid, you jump off railings into snowbanks, I guess.

Photography Thinks
Teena and Michael sit on Main St. Can’t go to Turning Point, a drop in, because it only opens for meetings.

How can you give people time or fine them for not being on time when the clock on the courthouse doesn’t work. Not only doesn’t it work, but the faces don’t have the same times.

Went to an all day arts program. Talking to a woman with a tatoo on her back about a portrait shootshoot. She became animated and knocked her wine off the table, hitting me, before it hit the floor. Clean up time. I left to wash my jeans before they stained.

“Not with the same girl you saw me with at JUMP.”

Texting, knitting, sitting and staring. Boys boxed. “It it fake or real,” I asked. “Fake,” said Kaitlyn.

My friend Tom Barber asked me to care for this model. She must be in shock, moving from the New North End to downtown. We welcome her. But she isn’t talking yet.
