letter #2

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When I met Annie Leibovitz in Saint-Tropez on October 3, 2074, we talked about rain and the possibility of stringing necklaces of drops. Later, while licking coconut ice cream, we considered what a shot would look like, capturing a tragically lonely person simultaneously trying to admire the imperfection of life, dreaming of a Hermès Birkin 35 Rouge Casaque, smelling the aroma of grandma’s pancakes, looking into his father’s eyes in his imagination, and feeling his son hug him in reality. Plus, the shot should contain a moment that contains a prayer for the peace and tranquility that the waves give, all at once.

We took another sip of the 1945 Château Mouton Rothschild, looking into each other’s eyes, realizing that the rain was tears, and without saying a word, we continued dreaming.

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