kevlarolson kevlarolson

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Kevin Olson 

hey y’all! I made this lil ep over the last year :) the bandcamp is in my bio, check it out if u want!

They built the diamond back in ninety-two. There was a huge influx of families to the area and the city was hopeful for a thriving, young community. But, after all these years, not even one sanctioned game was ever played there. Kids don't play baseball anymore. #35mm

"If we headed east on foot with just the clothes on our backs, how far could we get? How soon before we died of exposure or our minds cracked from fatigue and our feet walked without purpose?" Her eyes shone and they shook trying to grab at his.
He didn't want to look. #35mm

He found it silly, the blood wasted. He thought the only real good use for it was to remind you of being alive, of just how at risk you really were, a sign to continue on or to draw back. #35mm

They wove through the multicolored train cars. The heat from the sun was magnified by the steel labyrinth of containers and bent the air around them. Steel, sun and flesh they danced. #35mm

"Remember when those boys hit that deer in the middle of town?"
"Yeah, and the city left it rotting for ten days."
"That's right. But then that old woman from St. Paul's came and dumped laundry detergent on it. Remember? Remember that smell?"
"Oh God, of course I do! The stain is still burned into the asphalt."
"That was the most revolting smell: lilac and decay... she should've just let it be." #35mm

He pulled weeds as the sun went down. His hands were dipped in darkness and his eyes were wet. She stood by him and watched. "You couldn't ever make me cry," he said, turning to her from the dirt. "But, it's not your fault." #35mm

He thought he couldn't turn back. Which is a truly odd, very human, drive of psyche, a sort of momentum of the will that rolls on and on. I think it's because people don't want to retrace their steps, as if the act of stepping over past footprints is the admittance of defeat. Truly odd. #35mm

He'd walk on, past his neighborhood homes, through those natural areas with the horse-land and wooden fences, by the empty, whirring string of laundromats and appliance shops and finally stop at the river that ran through the rest. Only to turn back, only to turn back. #35mm

He always had little splits of wood stuck in his hair from where he rested the back of his head on the fence planks. They'd walk to school and his older brother would ask, "did you find your grubs, little woodpecker?" smiling and picking the splits of wood from his hair. #35mm

"How hard would it be to plant a tree?" She asked, leaning against the threshold of his office door.
He paused, looking over his half-moon lenses.
She stirred herself, "there is no shelter from the onslaught of the sun and I think a sturdy tree, planted in our yard, would cause many thanks from our shaded children and their shaded children after them."
"Uh, can't be too hard, Margaret." #35mm

"I like your hair the way it is." He said.
They walked on, under floating orange street lights.
She laughed, "the way it is?" Her eyes crossed a bit trying to look up at her bangs.
"It just looks good and I know what you're trying to say." #35mm

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