"Sure. We'll make it." All of my neighbors were strangers standing together more like joined in mutually sustaining. eyes muffled lips hair tethered wrists veins trapped skin faces enclosed legs. the many-limbed living a muscle-wall away from death - this was what made them a crowd. a maze of certitudes the coziness of company embroidered existence not endured alone. coiling together braced against They were sure. "Excuse me." I guess.
oil, collage on photo, 16" x 20"
JAMES W JOHNSON