Artists
One morning shortly after we moved to LA, my wife was making copies at Kinko’s, when this sweet man in his early seventies, completely unselfconscious, perhaps even a little defiant of how, in our paranoid century number 21, his actions might be a little icky to a young mom, struck up a conversatioin with my then two-year-old son.
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Los Angeles
Love is to hold a person in the highest possible regard. It is an unstoppable force. Pride is to hold oneself in the highest possible regard. It is an immovable object. That is all good and well, until the first collides with the second. So the question is: What happens when an unstoppable force collides with an immovable object?
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