The maxim is no longer “take a bunch of shots, and some of them will be good.” The maxim is you have one chance to take a perfect, professional photograph.
A photo you look absolutely flawless in, but of course, he’s not even looking at the camera.
Only look at these if you aren’t worried about having sweet dreams tonight.
I looked closely at the photo. At first glance, it was just your typical drunk high school party group photo. However, on the far right of the picture was the head and shoulders of a man I had never seen before.
We’ve all been there. You’ve chosen the right filter, amped up the contrast, and captioned the hell out of an overhead photo of the most perfect latte foam heart you’ve ever seen.
Photographs are like time capsules that let you flit, for a second, between what was and what is.
Embarking a new relationship is similar to getting the keys to a new car.
Out of the thirty-two pictures in the album, we identified twenty of them. All of them infants, all of them dying within a few months of being born. We might have been able to identify more, I suspect, but some of the stones were so old that the inscriptions had been rubbed away and were unreadable.
As I went about that routine, I pondered the images. I started mentally searching my calendar for a good time to book a facial — a microdermabrasion facial, perhaps. Something to really erase whatever the hell happened to my skin.
People have always said controversial things, gotten out of control at parties, and done things they regret. What’s changed is that today, no matter where you are, the world is always watching.