But what good are they without the photographic evidence?
With all the iPhone selfies, it is a wonder that photo booths are still in existence. But there is nothing like having a print in the hand (except maybe two in the bush).
The worst crime is not being young. The second worst is not being pretty. Or so it seems.
Tomorrow makes four weeks of living at my mother's house. A month. My life is dribbling away. Every day is the same. Don't try to imagine. It is impossible unless you have done it. My brain has shut down. I have nothing left to say. I've become a mime with a very limited vocabulary. That's a good line if you get it.
Long ago and far away. . . .