"I step outside, camera in hand and photograph him. We play and practice together. I shoot various stages of his flowering lifecyle..."
"Hey SMO, come outside, I brought you a present," he said. Stepping outside the backdoor, there on the driveway next to the house in a ten-inch black plastic garden center bucket stood Hubbard..
Restless. Irritable. Discontent. Inside I was smoldering with dis-ease over everything and everyone, everywhere. Everywhere I went, there I was...smoldering. Something was wrong - with me - yet I couldn't put my finger on it. The fire burning inside me was getting stoked, an upwelling was gaining; the pressure was rising, momentum building. I suffered silently, tried to at least, as the smoke around me grew thicker and darker in my mental agitation and physical discomfort.
He's baaack... I naively thought that when my address changed and the pictures and memorabilia trinkets were safely tucked away in storage he would cease to continue within my life...