Every other Thursday

old office reception chairs

There wasn’t enough space in the garage for the old waiting room chairs, so Eugene left them out front, the bucket seats filling up with dirty rainwater that poured off the tarpaper roof.

He remembered always sitting in a yellow chair while he waited at Dr. Wilford’s for one of his therapy sessions. After Dr. W retired and closed his office, Eugene bought a seat row.

They seemed so small now. When he was a kid, he felt like he was being swallowed whole in them. In their current pathetic state, Eugene was surprised he was ever afraid of them.

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I believe all good fiction includes an element of truth, and all good photography includes an element of fantasy. In this journal I hope to give voice to the stories swirling around in my head, and to capture the images I see through my camera’s lens.

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