My friend Kenn was right about many things, he made stuff happen, admired him. Gauge a lot of things against an imaginary idea of what he would do. He worked for Greenpeace, he was the guy who would hang a banner while suspended on a bridge and risk jail or his death. He wrote poetry and spelled things in a phonetic raw style. We were roommates and later infested with fleas. He did the work trying to fix the problem. I hid, 22 and didn’t know how to spell r-e-s-p-o-n-s-i-b-l-e. Once found myself in a limousine with Paul Simon, it’s a long story and there was a camera in my hands, a Ricoh SLR. My father had a camera store, we had a dark room growing up. In my own way studied a lot of work of a lot of photographers, liked certain people for their daring and nerve like Dianne Arbus and August Saunder. Looked through the viewfinder, Paul said don’t take my picture. I said ok but also thought this is too surreal and we will never see each other again and what would Diane or August do? The shutter clicked. Pretty sure he and his manager (and Edie who brought me there in the first place)  thought to themselves what an asshole. They would be right. But Kenn long ago said what does it look like from 10,000 miles up in the sky? Does it matter? Right again.