"Doesn't matter. They can't prove anything." His hand slides into my hair, tilting my head back so I'm looking up at him. "You're good, baby. Don’t worry.”
"I guess."
"It’s good to be aware and cautious, but don’t forget to enjoy it, baby.”
By week three, I have eight new pieces:
Crime scene polaroid of a gang shooting in Silver Heights
Environmental scenes of an abandoned psychiatric hospital in Santis
Diner sketch of an elderly man crying into coffee at 2am
Crime scene drawing, a composite of three different scenes, layered violence
Polaroid of a dead coyote on Highway 94, beautiful in its stillness
Drawing of a homeless encampment under the Bernado Bridge, human suffering rendered in charcoal
Polaroid of an industrial fire aftermath, everything ash and twisted metal
Drawing entitled "Invisible" its a self-portrait as a ghost, barely visible against white paper
Dom pins them to the darkroom wall, studying each one.
"These are better than the first portfolio," he says.
