Rain, torrential and sudden, lashes the streets of the city built in the desert, built on sin. Rivers of residue stream into the storm drains. A white-red-orange streak froths the sidewalks. The pollen of what stayed in Vegas, washed out, splashing around the...
The smell of Christmas in Eastern Europe is the cold and smoky bite of wet in your nose. The chill of river mist mixed with the low-hanging smoke of a thousand town chimneys. Winters are not what they used to be. I remember rime and snow, and temperatures falling to...
There are still places in the world where people live a normal life. Away from the hyper-optimized capitalism of the west, where every cafe, teashop, concept book-store, or an unusual localeof any kind needs to face the same kind of economic pressures as a branch of a...
Spaces in between. The flashes of technical lights and outlines of unused tunnels between stations, a lonely technician working on god knows what underground. The lights of other people’s homes seen from street level, each a window into a different life. The people...
In the tension between places, there exists a space we often travel without knowing we trespass on somebody else’s sacred ground. A passerby, a visitor, an intruder. For some, the world shrinks with each journey they take; for others, the world grows smaller when...
A cracked electricity meter stands guard by every door, easily mistaken for a postbox. Take a few steps back, and every house will tell you its dilapidated story of life and neglect. Read the layers of stone, crumbling mortar, abandoned attempts at renovation,...
Your experience of any city merely reflects what you brought there with you in the first place. You can find my new photo album from Lisbon HERE. Social media takes more than it offers. I let my readers decide if they want to share my work. If you enjoyed the read or...
