In retrospect, the world is bigger then I thought.

In a bookstore in Ithaca, there are dead moths in all the window frames and sci-fi novellas in plastic bags nailed to the walls. There are ancient texts of the European History and Bibles older then the white oak tree in my backyard in New Hampshire. The hallways are dark, but the sun shines through windows crowded with cobwebs, dead moths, and bushes. Thousands and thousands and thousands of books line shelves and dust collects in the pages and they remained closed for years and years and years. I never buy anything at the bookstore in Ithaca. I bring my camera and take photos of the windows and the shelves and my sister browsing the books about African pygmy tribes and South American colonization. She is beautiful when she is learning. I wonder what other people in the world are doing at the same moment that I take these photos. Someone in Iceland is drinking coffee. Someone in Peru is learning English. Someone in Thailand is harvesting pineapples. Someone in France is eating croissants in a cafe wearing a black and white striped turtleneck with a black beret and smoking a cigarette. And someone in Ithaca is taking photos of cobwebs and dead moths in window frames.