I believe that I am trapped in the thoughts of a writer with no say or way out, I’m terrified that at the end of the last chapter I will no longer exist. I can only hope that the author has a strong vocabulary and a bigger imagination to let me have a happy ending. This is my sentence, where I live life on the pages of white. The author writes words without risk as I am forced to walk his narrative day in and day out, but I forgive the author. I’m not sure if my story is being revealed to him or even if he has the final say. I can only hope that maybe, just maybe the author will let me know my fate. Am I fiction or non-fiction, I just don’t know.
“Which of us has not felt that the character we are reading in the printed page is more real than the person standing beside us?”
―
Exposure and Other Worldly Morsels 
When I go downtown I don’t see this…looking at your photography makes me realize what I’m missing, your words and camera open me up to a new world. Thank you Dave Banks, you are a true photojournalist.
You need to read the Jack Liffey series by John Shannon. They’re on Amazon for low $$. They match up quite well with the photos here
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