"If I had to guess, some invisible mist composed of stardust and diesel put a spell on those dumpy streets. Making me, for the first time in my life, sort of glad I was from Gilmore Park, New Jersey." - Danny, SPBTH
As a teenager one of my favourite things to do was trek down alley ways and climb downtown fire escapes to the roof. Anything to create a moment, a memory worthy of looking back upon with nostalgia. On many endless summer nights, I took whichever brave patron of the passenger seat on a roofless drive through my empty small-town streets. I've also spent too many nights standing on Mary's doorstep, gazing in through the screen into her broken world beyond the wash of the porch light. The memories, whether they're real or made up, my own or experienced vicariously, allowed me to write Mary's story. And when deciding on a photograph of myself, I needed one that proves I honestly know what the fuck I'm writing about. Clairvoyantly, I set my entire life up to be ready to tell Mary's story. So, no, no more turtle-neck, no suit and tie; only the uniform of a small-town, wannabe James Dean. Hoping he looks like an apparition of Marlon Brandon or Presley. A modern-day, misfit greaser whose 1960's music doesn't exist on anyone else's playlist. Because that's who I was, and in my heart, who I'll always be.
Photograph by the one and only @dimoraphoto