It’s weird really. I draw them. Spend hours or days entrenched in a thought, making a statement or just completing a sentence and then I stack ‘em up on the mantle, balanced between the dusty treasures that live there, and once a week or so I bop them in an envelope and mail them to Paiger. Their likenesses arrive here like an old friend that I haven’t seen in so long that I barely recognize them. But something about the way they move is all too familiar. The way they cut their eyes, brush the stringy hair from their face, take measured breaths….reminds that we have been here before. And then I remember. This is my life, and a photo shot of the lives I’ve borrowed from passing strangers, from the tattered wings of friends. My world. Life, death, and the in-between. And the, always, ever-after. Welcome.