Series of whacky photographs

Fooling around. As usual.

That's my best friend, in the center.

Bunny kink and hats.

While waiting for Ingrid to arrive, this kind of things happened.
The legendary flaring of nostrils.

Roy came into the picture.







The supposed movie marathon and stayover

DDR. No kidding.

Street fighter-ing.



Enough to feed a horde of gluttons.

Traces were left trailing a grave dangle. We both saw shadows doing a clandestine follow, so we hastened the rhythems of our feet. There's no space for admittance that denial will never path our getaway, yet escapism deems the smoothest way out.

Bittersweet release, free these conflicting voices once again.