He likes pictures of him. His silhouette, rather. A full, detailed headshot on a fine day. His head always faced away from the unknown camera until images have been uploaded. His face (or the shape of his head), as if mindless of his surrounding and mindful of all else. He likes being the subject of photographs like such, caught in that moment of deep wonder. Because he’s sophisticated like that— not enslaving himself to the Now, to Time itself. And I take joy in having him as a subject and all his eccentricities. He’s too vain and full that there are always things I notice and can tell stories of.
