Before I was walking the streets of Denver with my camera, I sat inside my apartment (and a few bars) drafting a novel in grad school while studying existentialism.

It’s a narrative of a guy falling headfirst into an existential crisis, mostly drinking his way through self-hatred, the need for connection, and the weight of loneliness as the days are stacked on each other in piles like old photographs curling at the edges, soon to fade and slip silently into oblivion.

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