i saw a man whose age did not do his skin justice. the most beautiful elastic softness separated by gentle and wise and intentional roads all over his living self. i can't even begin to speak of his hands.
two men with rough demeanor, blatant work ethic (in the field of construction i am certain), ordered an espresso each, and i was overwhelmed with joy to hear their slavic tone. heritage is an odd string.
a compilation of things that make up an online sketchbook, and stuff.