There’s no warning.

There’s no warning.

At times one finds interesting creatures walking on the sand.

Writers, actors, poets and musicians hanging on the wall of Adam’s private room.


(So many.)

Do you think one may find peace when doing something one is fond of? Like love or so…

Endgame, by Beckett, in Only Lovers Left Alive, by Jarmusch, under Swinton’s hand.