1/90 sec | f 3.5 | 7.21484375 mm | iso100
i think it was grade 3 or 4, Ann Thompson. you were tall, thin, blonde. angular features, pleasent toothy smile too big for your mouth. i burned for you in my pre-pubescent way. You sat in front of me for a while, i used to write you love notes,surreptitiously tossing them thru the ink hole in the desk when you werent looking, or werent there. desperatly hoping you would find them, praying to whatever god a 9 year old can conjure that you wouldnt. i cant remember what i wrote on them, probably 'i like you' or 'i love you' or 'do you like/love me?'. i cant remember whether i had the balls to sign them up, i doubt it, but i wrote them all for you, Ann Thompson, till the next Ann Thompson came around. sometimes i daydream what ever happened to you. not really, but it makes for good copy. are you dead? a stripper / hooker / junkie? that would make for a good story. housewife? mother? teacher? here's to you, Ann Thompson, wherever you are.