I'm awake, it's late outside, I open my door and walk downstairs. I sit across the door and watch snow/rain fall, and see the occasional car pass. The common room smells like chips without salsa and 2-liter bottles of dr. pepper. Someone else comes down -- I can't tell who it is in this AM light -- and we prop open the door silently, sit back together and feel the cold air come in.
A series of T trains, the Boston MFA. I take another photo. I'm not sure yet about the composition but I take it anyway, because it looks nice and I put little thought on things. I am involved in the process: later hours later I will walk into an old building and go downstairs and wander around towards a room that smells of dust and vinegar; I will drop rolls of film in a box with my name on them and retrace my steps. Leaving the building I will smell H2SO4 and burning calories; through the windows comes a snowy weekend afternoon's sunlight, shining through statues of children bending down, picking up objects, immortalized in bronze play.