Pick your glass

There were days when we used to play, with roles and cards, and there would be music about and scents and smiles.
Those were good days.
We grew up though, grew meaner too. Each one of us picked a glass of sin, and so there was silence; which, I thought, was the least painful of all.

Portrait of, let's say, an old friend.

Photoshop
May 2003


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