Where would art be without walls to hang on?

And where would I be without beer? Questions, questions... is probably the reason why art exist. It's boring to ask questions at empty walls, if you ask me. Artwork makes people feel better at talking to walls and it certainly fills up walls with space, time, subjects, stories, equations and other stuff that amuse man and woman alike. So, it goes one night that I found myself at one of these art congregations, which there are a plenty of at any given night in this city. This particular one happened to be a show of a mutual new friend named G, whom I met thru M. I prefer calling people with just the beginning letter of their names to make it sound like I am writing a mystery novel.



When in fact, I am just writing facts. Factoids. Factualities. Photographs.



Writing a photograph is quite easy. I basically can make up anything I want because the photograph will support what I say. This is the truth about photos. The truth lies somewhere between the written word and the image and both are always communicating... talking... and embracing....



Just like walls...



The place is practically a bohemian's dream. Cafe. Girls. Club. Gallery? Wow! I want to go there every night... except it's missing one thing... BEER! Oh, well.... There is M in the middle wearing a sundress. I almost forgot at that time that I was sober and thirsty.



I thought that the electric signage on top of the store-front was very poignant seeing the sidewalk action. Here, I caught M's friend in a funny pose. She was either pretending to be a pony or had something stuck in the back of her shirt.



There! A successful extraction of something stuck, which now is loose.