Photography of Motion

We pull up to a gray-beige Saab, I am in the passenger seat. I am looking out the window and into the other car. There is a youngish man and a woman in the car, presumably a couple. They're not ugly, but they're not especially striking either. The man may have been clean shaven or may have had stubble. The woman may have been a brunette or maybe a blonde. For the entire time it takes for the light to turn they do not talk or look at each other. The girl raises a bottle of diet Coke to her lips and takes a sip. Complacency of couplehood. Click.

I'm sitting in a black pleather office chair. I look down at my feet, pajama pants with purple and blue elephants dancing on them, white socks, the beginning of a hole over the big toe on my left foot. My elbows rest on my knees and I look back up through a curtain of hair. I tell her "don't worry too much about it" too bad it's not so simple, too bad I can't take my own advice. Psychopathological aloofness. Click.

Laying on a striped duvet cover. Holding on tightly to his hand, my head spinning. For some reason I know absolutely I cannot let go. I fall asleep and wake up with his warm breath on my lips. He is in his chair next to the bed, bent over me. I curl up into a ball and hide my face. Unforgivable stupidity in a bottle. Click.

Depressing thought: The holy trinity?