A picture of the street I lived on in Kingston, in University. In my crooked, falling down house. I miss it. Is it possible to loathe a time in your life but at the same time really miss it? Winter in the photograph, with the sun on it's way down. It is touching the top of the apartment building further down the street, making the tree at the end of the block seem as if it is on fire. I am nostalgic for those days. I loved this street. Things were crazy then for many reasons. I used to sit on the steps and smoke cigarettes, and I would be cold. I would go back into the house, shutting the door tightly behind me, and I would still be cold. We had no heat.
That's what this picture conjures inside of me: to look at it, I remember the cold. When I think about it, it makes me feel warm.
