Decked in effortless black and white is the way to go when I hit 49. Limi Feu, I am on my way.
This is a raw afternoon. I need to trundle out of my bed and courier my fat ass to Ruby. Sometimes, I get hypnotise by the incessant beauty I find online that inertia becomes rather comfortable. My photos await me. Oh January, now that I am about to surrender to the thirtieth year of my life, you are ever so precious.
Andrew Bird, he comes knocking January 26. Chin up, J. He will serenade us with urgent emotion and infinite love. Take heart.
We are a year and a day old. Sorted. 🙂
And it made me wonder, is simple the new pretentious?