Our tracks are a creek, and I’m on the wrong side of it.

Some days the world conspires to crush your soul, not through any brute force but by a slow, relentless pressing. Like a wine press that you don’t see working on you until it’s starting to really hurt. What you do is you go home, eat something you like, grab your camera, and shoot anything you can for a half hour.

Or rather, that’s what I did. It feels a little better now.

 

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