Steven started blowing out bits of blood in his nose into my sink. I asked if he was OK. He replied, Oh, it’s just the coke.
Brooklyn's Dimitri Karakostas gets around. His scratchy negatives are like the beatup, bleeding kids rolling on skateboards through suburban wastelands. And in the process of getting washed in all that grim, grease and grit, there's a lot of self-discovery.
The eeriness only added to the suspense of getting caught by the cops, but I even felt a bit sad thinking how this is where these so-called American heroes wound up.
I heard voices on the other side. Voices like, What are you doing? and How’d you get in there?