This one’s from a couple of years ago, when I worked parking at Churchill Downs. It’s an odd world to be on the edge of; on the edge because when your primary function is to be both seen and unseen. When you’re dealing with a subculture that has its own hierarchy, its deeply rooted sense of self-importance, a complex delusion that it operates with art and dance and beauty, and an ocean of money in its black heart that is the true rhythm it runs to… you either know your place, learn your place, or you don’t stay in the place.

I worked with people, some who were so in love with the “tradition” of horse racing that they were completely blind to the fact that a junkie in an expensive suit is still a junkie. The rest of us kept our heads down.

the clouds tempestuous  the sun teasing 
bob-n-weaving like one more
past prime boxer // autumnal clouds paint 
the light divine fractured one o' them
oil paintings it just breaks the heart 
to try catch a sorry photo