At My Own Pace

My family always asks me what I do in Illinois. So I got a new camera to serve as my communication medium.
Cocktails and coffee.

For breakfast.

Don’t worry, it was a Sunday.

Cocktails and coffee.

For breakfast.

Don’t worry, it was a Sunday.

Consistency is key.

Consistency is key.

The last song of the Gentlemen of the Road Tour.

The last song of the Gentlemen of the Road Tour.

Our friendship forged.

Familiar places,

new adventures,

it didn’t matter much.

We were out to explore and discover who we were.

Our friendship forged.

Familiar places,

new adventures,

it didn’t matter much.

We were out to explore and discover who we were.

"We should buy Maria some flowers.  It was awfully nice of her to let us have the place to ourselves."

Her gratitude returned me from my thoughtful meanderings to her naked neck and shoulders, the rest of her tangled in faded bed sheets.  The bed’s small frame struggled to contain us and encouraged our bodies to intertwine in an effort to remain afloat.  The Wisconsin heat was palpable, but as she shed her clothes I forgot my discomfort.

"I think that’s a great idea.  We can use that old Milwaukee pickle jar out on the porch as a vase."

I traced her curves with my fingers, following down along her flank until the sensitivity sharpened her attention and raised her hairs in the wake of my wandering digits.  She shuddered and turned to kiss me.

The flowers were added to the wait list.

A red porch and pickled cigarettes.

A red porch and pickled cigarettes.