A smoking from my prom. When you buy it you imagine yourself looking like James Bond in it, but when you wear it, the style is lost somewhere in between the pimples and the unimpressive body.
A photograph from my first night drinking. Holding a cigarette and a bottle of vodka, my eyes are bloodshot, my smile is slightly south of desperate, and my shirt is the kind of shirt that mothers buy for teenagers when they think that they are still nine.
A cigarette butt with lipstick on it. Wine red, bordering on black, and the wrinkles of the lips left a clearly defined texture. It was from my first sexual encounter with an older woman, in a upscale hotel in Dakar.
A picture from shame-watch, a tradition when i would sit upon my roof, watching the girls of the neighborhood return to their houses on saturdays and sundays, hung over and contrite. I would photograph them and put the pictures on a website, for everyone to see. Why, you ask? For the fuck of it.
