It is not often that one gets to participate in the precise phase of transition from someone’s former life to a future one.
Followed by a Kamikaze.
Washed down with some Massatucky Brown.
I just played pool.
There are no photos. The transition is undocumented. Except for here. Maybe somewhere else, too, but you’re on your own to fix location and pin down time. You’ll fail, of course. Time passes, the moments go. Some cycle back (most, actually, repeat in endless iterations with minute changes in variables) but certain times, special times, are unique in their unrepeatability.