A few years back, walking to work. Breezy. The morning sun filtered through the gaps between buildings. Minding my own business. I turn to my left and a man approaches another man and shoots him through the neck. There is no action movie slo-mo, just the victim, sort of in a pirouette, a dying top, crumpling to the gutter. I force myself to walk away. The brazen shooter, walks casually, getting a taxi at the corner. Another woman, who was next to the killer when all this happened, still had her hands up, covering her ears, mouth wide open as if trying to scream. I thought she was melting.

Saw a short feature on the American soldiers fighting in Iraq.

They wept openly. Standing together as weight of the death of two buddies slowly descended on them. Young men. Almost kids. In a country far remove from the familiar.

I could not help thinking at that moment they could all be together, riding in cars, windows open, down a coastal highway. Buddies. Free you know. These are young men.

Hello boys and girls,

shifting my head-voice to, shall we say, journal mode.

Figured the clouds would float by with chance encounters and photos I'm willing to put up. Here's the theme--i guess--for what this is all about. steal some, freeze some, put it up on a clipboard like pinned butterflies. lovely.