gorged on strawberries and canned tuna. We listened, incessantly, to K.D. Lang’s
Ingenue. And we took pictures of each other, all the time, everywhere we went.
In one series of shots, I am just holding forth, cigarette in hand, light
bouncing off my then-fuchsia hair.
find ourselves in Baguio again, this time for work, and we have walked on grass,
and laughed, and drunk strawberry soda at Cafe by the Ruins, and in celebration
of our friendship, and the fact that we don’t look half-bad after ten years of
working like farm dogs, we are taking pictures