Funhouse

Everyone bumps into the occasional grunty, bovine neighbor, the night-shift coworker with webbed feet, the kiosk salesman who looks like a balloon stuffed with ricotta cheese, or the spindly palm-reader who resembles a black widow in a Nehru jacket, with a neck that looks like they’re constantly choking on a portobello mushroom. Everyone. It is my job to document these people, to prove to everyone else in the world that they do exist. View my friends, family, acquaintances, imaginary friends, imaginary acquaintances, and friendly, imaginary acquainted hallucinations, under a lens which irrefutably belongs in a circus.