Hot. Monday. Air conditioned for eight, evening breezed for four, and now a pile of sweat melting under headphones fit for blizzard-ridden mountain climbing. I’m all for it, at least for the few months Boston’s got it.
Another from yesterday’s string of selfs. Same shirt, same hair, no glasses, and a bit of leg for good measure. Or rather for the establishment of depth. Leg comes out, arms staunchly defend the middle ground/torso, and finally way at the back the head looks down on thee.
The perspective’s the real driver here. I’m fond of the rest – the texture of the shirt, the strange color, the tendon pouring down out of the kneecap. But it’s all about this distance that is somehow amplified by the fact that no matter how you look at it, you’re still looking up into it as if looking at clouds overhead.