Picture of palm trees because you have to have a picture of palm trees if you're a fucking hipster writer living in Los Angeles. Forgive me.
The Half Moon Hotel, at night, shot with a sweet little Leica I carried everywhere until it crapped out on me one day. I love you, whoever you are.
Brother-in-law floating in a pool in Glendale, living the good life, drunk off Budweiser and happy as a pig in feces. Good man, this one. Good father. Good husband.