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In the dim light of a crowded room, a man's hand grips a sweating glass, amber liquid catching soft gold. The focus sharpens on his knuckles and the condensation beading the rim, while the background dissolves into warm, indistinct tones—a festive atmosphere rendered distant and unreachable. A raised glass suspended mid-air, never quite reaching the lips, heavy with unspoken weight. This is the loneliness of being spectral among the living, where grief has crossed oceans and made its home, turning a man into a silent emergency in plain sight. A testament to absence that travels lighter than any suitcase, already waiting in the new rooms before the key turns in the lock.
anthonyadore.com/corpse-at-feast-loneliness/?utm_source=f...
Foster the People Don’t Stop
Se mantiene la misma escena a contraluz, pero se utiliza el flash para iluminar a kenia en primer plano y reducir las sombras, editada en Lightroom
