Waiting for Photos. On the Sidewalk. With Thumb Out. Will Photos Give Me a Ride? Irrelevant.

As I wait for the pictures Krystle actually took, here's a description of pictures I would have taken this weekend:

Friday night
Four heads crowded around a red scrapbook. Three pairs of soggy eyes, four hearts crying. Warm light, a rogue kitten pouncing on pink ribbon, a red curtain, goodbyes in every movement.

Saturday morning
Blabe craning her graceful neck out the car window to carry on a long, casual conversation with bike-riding Andrea... as the car is pulling ridiculously far away.

Doves flying over the head of a man who recently received life through the gift of another's tragedy. White against red against the plea, "Done Vida," against blue sky.

Saturday evening
John Lithgow. Weird.

Megan's parents transfixed by a tall, elegant figure on the stage - a figure not wearing a teal dress, thank the Lord.

Someone's face as we both realize there will be no satisfactory goodbyes tonight.

Sunday morning
Four pairs of feet hanging out the car windows, spasmodically waving to blasted music, mouths contorted to shout, "LIFT UP YOUR HEAD..."

A sleeping face framed with black curls, entire body in repose but ready to fly upright the moment the ocean comes into view.

A certain statue, bringing to mind a certain Reanna's questionable advice to me. Gorgeous, eye-catching white marble. Don't laugh if you can help it, girls. This is art.

Sunday Night
A table under an overcast sky. Below, one pair of flipflop-clad, blue toes, one pair of sneakers about to stand up and run enthusiastically into a chair, and two pairs of behaving, weather-appropriate shoes. Above, three heavenly clam chowder bowls and one crappy pizza.

Two girls peeing in the bushes on the side of the 5. Okay Krys, I admit it: I would have captured that one, too.

"A memory is worth a thousand pictures." ~ Me.