We plan to cinder this path.
Emulating the Smurfs and wearing an oversized sock on your head does seem pretty small beer next to the seven pounds of ironmongery adorning a young woman’s otherwise pretty face I saw recently, or the slew of tattoo-fetishists from Generation Zed who will be figuring out which laser specialist to enrich a few years down the road. But who am I to talk? I just need to check out some photos from the 1970s to humble up, and I wasn’t even into disco!
Mr. Graf, you're still disturbed. You sure you're not harboring just a little of the old Frankenstein complex about all this? It's all right to admit it to me—in fact, I want you to talk about it.
Moody, often blurred and set in rooms cast with bohemian clutter, these images capture tenants in their downbeat moments, mouths half-open, eyes half-closed, midstep or midconversation.
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