If a young man with a nice camera says “I’m from the New Yorker,” you let him take your picture. Especially if you’re standing in Grand Central station reading a Bill Bryson book on your phone wasting some time.
I’m never a fan of photographs of myself, but hey, this one ain’t half bad.
Bee Walsh. Poetry Editor at "The Rain, Party, & Disaster Society." 24 years old. Veg. Edge. Feminist. Professional in NYC. Avid Post-Card Sender. Politics, Poise, Permutations. Lover of the loudest music. Beard enthusiast. Hues of purple aficionado.