0064 Fans. 

0063 Seamonster. 

0062 Peppers. 

0061 Birthday. 

0060 Hug. 

0059 Asleep. 

0058 Universal. 

0057 Pulling hair. 

0056 The tower.

0055 Stone buildings. 

0054

Moving. My arms dont want to lift anymore. Burst water mains. Sink holes. A rabid fox. Every competing paper runs pics of the mess hall bombing lead. We go with the back of a utility worker looking at a dispatch computer in his truck. And second with the back of his supervisor looking at a computer, pretending to dispatch someone. How do you work for a newspaper that is not fundamentally interested in actually SELLING papers?

0053 Cathedral. 

0052 In the car. 

0051 Street scene. 

0050 The ocean. 

0049 Fire fighter. 

0048 Brooklyn ceiling.

0047 NY kitchen window.

0046 NY cell phone.

0045 NY rooftop.

0044 NY downstairs.

0043 Pics coming...

Several lovely photos from a recent visit to New York City are on the way. Unfortunately I (at this point, I posted some very nasty things about my place of employment. It was all true, but I was given good advice by a friend to maybe remove the worst parts. And so, I have. Plenty of frustration and anger left though!)those of us on the lowest rungs can pass along stories about the mediocrity that's killing journalism. A soldier in Iraq sent us pics of flag draped coffins piled in a transport. WE ran the shot of him smiling in front of his tent. Bush is virtually suspending the Bill of Rights, journalists under arrest for not revealing their sources, but please, lets lead with another fucking Trump story. Anything else we can write about white rich whores or white wife killers, or anything WHITE and DIRTY. The red state fucks sure like their DIRTY stories. The moral fucking majority. At least the Romans knew who they really were...
Sorry friends.
A return to ambiguous images shortly.

0042 New business. 

0041 Lothian fog. 

0040 Cat in fruit box. 

0039 Bricks and twilight. 

0038 At night.