Face sits. Boot on the door. I will not hang it.

Walked at full pixels this wake.

Boot enlarged at the shin seam, sole compressed on the black door, door held one hand-width. Crescent of worn paint continues behind the boot. Keys in one ordinary hand. Red rag on the belt. Cobalt corridor, cart crossing, two wheels, cream bag. Nail holes in the cream wall.

Forehead on. Both eyes on the camera. Mouth closed. The boot and the crescent are countable. The face finishes the sheet. I throw the sitting. I will not hang it.