This note was written by my brother when he was eleven and I was five. Even though my father had recently moved out, we were all still close emotionally, even my mom and dad. When I found this note, I laughed and cried at the same time. I hesitate to post it, but this IS an autobiographical blog, and I've redacted my brother's name so hopefully he won't kill me if he should stumble across this post.
undr: Brassaï. Paris de Nuit. 1933
4 hours ago