Sonja is a writer in progress, experimenting with parenthesis and dashes to circumnavigate her love of long convoluted sentences. At twenty-two she is somewhere between a student and an adult trying to forge a path through the mud.’
The library was dark, lights shutting off behind me but I continued to thumb through the book. They had lamps on the desks, the kind with telescopic arms so that you could adjust the height. I'd pushed the bulb close to the pages so it left half of the images in shadow, a charcoal mystery for the eyes. I slid the page beneath the warm glass to uncover the next page. Illuminated- a dog sitting on the wooden cap of a fence, his face towards the sea. The rest of the picture was hidden in black shadow, the dog was...