2013

I saw her on the subway. I couldn’t not photograph her.

Veronique comes a dozen times, and pretty quickly.

She makes me dumb, which is unusual — not because I’m so smart, but because almost no one disequilibrates me simply by existing.

Happy March.

V notices the secret language of her own body on the subway.

A married mom, a lurker, reaches out. And now I’m left wondering: what happens when I help someone see possibilities their partner doesn’t want to see?

The underside of a thigh on the subway.

Five-eight, and figuring out what that means.

Do as I say.

I try to find the words, and fail.