For Halloween my brother Bear, aged eleven almost twelve, will to be a Death Angel, the dearheart, complete with e v i l. Below is a photo of me and my best shot at Jim from 28 Days Later. Just couldn’t shave my head or justify buying a one-time use wig (and I didn’t even attempt the beard). Siiiigh.
Yep, that’s a sack of Pepsi, and yes, the hospital bracelet is legit—in a real doctor’s scrawl it lists my social history as an information retrieval specialist and cites my “Exercise” as “Dancing.” When I managed that, I was punch all week.
Bree took the picture. I like it. “Photography steals the soul” or whatever, detaches your inner dead person, if only for a moment, a halo that haunts and guards. Apropos. For now.
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