nonitd
I've never really enjoyed using bread as a utensil, unless it's to sponge up olive oil and balsamic.
kettle. tea. tea. mug. mug. winter. winter. contentedness.
I knock on the doors. Most of them don't open; some slam in my face. I guess that's what a mission is all about: persisting in the face of certain failure.
I look at the different frames. Some I like. Some I don't. But I suppose that it's not what's on the perimeter that matters, it's the lens.