Moments of simple pleasures.

A second line is a jazz funeral without a corpse. . .

Through the darkness of future past.

Even when it’s for the best, divorce is the worst. It’s like grieving a death, but the corpse continues to breathe.

But the painting is a journey, a transformation, as chaos travels to a hallowed place depicted by an angel with a sacred heart, the colors transition from dark to light. There is hope.

It was so predictable. So obvious. The rustling plastic, the snorts and sniffles, a red-hot whisper. A zipper baring its teeth, its mouth open wide.