020810

The faint remnants of a Newport cigarette are caught in my shirt-threads. I find myself caught up in smoke every time I enter my father's apartment; the air is thick with memories of better days, of hours spent in spray booths with an old Cadillac and checkerboard tape, of driving through town with Todd Rundgren on the radio. It's the only connection I have to the times I've lost.. this sad, grey scent of nostalgia.