I don't open my own doors anymore
We go out and the boys fall into formation — one on the door, one scanning the room, both making sure I don't touch anything unnecessary or do anything strenuous. Here they are in the suits from their 8th-grade graduation, running my security detail like it's a paid position. I'm the client. The precious cargo. I have never been so managed, or so loved.
That's the craft. The photo is two boys in suits. The story is who they've decided to be to me — and no one else would ever read it from the frame alone.