My Brussels photo shoot

Last week in Place Jeu de Balle, a photographer asked me if I would pose for some pictures. I said okay, naturally, seeing as how I’ve done that lotsa times before. We took a whole bunch of shots as the sun set over the normally crowded marché aux puces, and I think this is the best of the lot. Everyone on Facebook seems to agree. One of my friends said, “it’s not just ‘hot!’ or whatever, it is a really nice picture that looks like you, and when I think of you in my remembery, this is what you look like. You look smart, confident, well dressed (creative, based on the ensemble). Yes. C’est toi, cherie.”

Your life is in shambles, but somehow you find a way to get dressed in the morning. Even though you run back under the covers ten times, eventually your dignity wins out over your depression. You decide that happiness is not a house you might build one day. It has got to be a choice. So you put on your favourite cowboy boots that he always hated, swath on the chocolate-black mascara, and you fucking pull yourself together. Now is the time for guts and guile.

And voilà: a damned fine photograph.