Photographic Memory: How to Hail a Shopping Cart

The year was 2006. It was the night of Aliea's art show in the city. Aliea, Justin, Mike, Cynthia and I all put on our fanciest duds, piled onto the BART, and headed into San Francisco one chilly November night to witness one of the most fascinating displays of contemporary art I've ever witnessed first hand.

The art was bold. It was colorful and shocking and extremely tangible. It left you feeling slightly unhinged, savoring the lasting remnants of the free cheap booze, holding onto your comprehensible brain cells with earnestness while you gazed into the destroyed concepts of the modern world, all the while maintaining a sense of cooky absurdism.

Aliea's art of distant photographic memories, that savored the nostalgic and hinged on the spiritual, fit right in.

At the end of the night I could barely feel my toes. Typically the end result of a night in the uncomfortable, yet fashion forward stilettos. Something made especially impractical when living in the city, but simultaneously especially more necessary.

So we hailed us a shopping cart. And they pushed me all the way home.