There's a picture of you I keep in my wallet, though you may never get the chance to witness this fact firsthand. Viewed with the cool objectiveness of a photographer, it isn't even a very good picture: the exposure is all wrong, the color oversaturated, the depth of field mangled. But I keep this snapshot of you not for such impersonal and detached reasons, but because of the visage it portays, the personality of the subject. There's a crafty gleam to your eyes in this, the way they crinkle and look askew, the way your hair falls just to your shoulders, and the twisted curve of your lips. That, more than any other aspect, is the reason this impromptu portrait found a place within these leather confines I am never without -- your hallowed grin speaking of quiet self-conciousness and sardonic reflection. A smile frozen in time.