Feelings come, feelings go.

The grew arrives, blunt smoking. We looked at the wardrobe together. He was having his nails done. I entered the room, the gang looked and smiled at me. I was nervous, though felt at ease. He had a specific, yet changing idea of what music should be played. At one point, did we listen to Joan Baez? Is it strange to listen to one’s own music when taking portraits?

At one point, he looked me in the eyes, and asked, would you like me to cry? I said, if that’s what you’re feeling like. Tears streamed down his cheeks.