Lost Rolls Of Film

Kerry Tallarico Issue: Section:

I would have succeeded at What's Eating Gilbert Grape-ing myself and letting the fibers of my skin fuse to the fibers of my bed when I lived in Pittsburgh.  In Pittsburgh, you could call hating everything, "just a case of seasonal depression." And even though that's a green light to sleep until May, when your brother gives you that "would she really off herself?" squint, you crawl your desperate corpse out of blanket-topia and go be a third wheel on his day-date to walk 2 miles for a growler of beer. He gets very emotional about these things, after all. 

On lucky days, I'd make it out of the house with my Pentax K1000 (read: old camera with one bell and one whistle). Each roll got chucked into a box, rediscovered and re-packed away for another day. Multiple times. A year ago, I was taking handfuls of change to the Kroger self check-out and using the pay-as-you-scan method. "Bread Sandwich" was a thing. And I wasn't about to blow a weeks worth of PBR on crying about the past in a pile of photos. I'm here to cry about the present, and mostly the future. And a little bit about how the taco truck is closed today.

So, two years later I am left with an inexcusably sized pile of undeveloped film. Personally, I like to think of it as time-capsule bombing myself and achieving every 9 year old's dream. I am also just realizing that two years ago, my definition of frivolous was being able to afford developing a roll of film and a case of PBR in the same week. Anyway. I wouldn't be telling you all of this without showing you the goods. So, HERE YOU GO. Two years later I am ripping and flipping through my glossy, black & white, 4x5 single prints outside of Austin's last white whale of a photo imaging lab.

And I'm cackling. Not crying. 
Because a 3" Christa is dogging on a baguette in my hands.

 

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