Nothing says home of the brave like hoarding toilet paper.
It would be sad not to photograph these orchids a friend brought over and there is enough sadness in the world already, so I do what I can.
When did kitsch get to be so bossy?
Is it true? Are dreams like paper? And if valentines are paper, are they like dreams, which are like paper? Be careful out there. Ciao.
In which the first light on a Saturday morning makes me giddy.