HOME | DD

Description
It's Central Park in black and white, early morning spring mist slowly rising from the ground and a girl in pigtails with an umbrella under her arm walking away.

It's people crossing a street, you can only see their shoes and there's so much black and brown and a pair of yellow flats catches your attention but they're not in focus.

It's a small bar in Queens and a young man looks up from his glass, his lips so beautiful you can't look away from his smile long enough to notice it doesn't reach his eyes.

It's a group of good-looking people laughing, but you focus on the four that aren't - they're spread out but you can tell they're together, their hair and clothes black and their stares makes you feel uneasy.

It's one of them, the one with a splash of red in his hair, in profile against the bright lights of a late night New York and you can tell he's clenching his jaw but there's something soft in his gaze when he looks at you.

And once the cameras are off and while the film is being developed - because this is done the old-fashioned way - there are the things you don't see; the tiny two-room apartment where cigarette smoke curls around the dirty dishes, where the bed is never made but the sheets are always clean. Where nicotine-stained fingers run through bright blue hair and where there are more DVDs than books.

It's a dream and Indigo is living it.

Description
It's Central Park in black and white, early morning spring mist slowly rising from the ground and a girl in pigtails with an umbrella under her arm walking away.

It's people crossing a street, you can only see their shoes and there's so much black and brown and a pair of yellow flats catches your attention but they're not in focus.

It's a small bar in Queens and a young man looks up from his glass, his lips so beautiful you can't look away from his smile long enough to notice it doesn't reach his eyes.

It's a group of good-looking people laughing, but you focus on the four that aren't - they're spread out but you can tell they're together, their hair and clothes black and their stares makes you feel uneasy.

It's one of them, the one with a splash of red in his hair, in profile against the bright lights of a late night New York and you can tell he's clenching his jaw but there's something soft in his gaze when he looks at you.

And once the cameras are off and while the film is being developed - because this is done the old-fashioned way - there are the things you don't see; the tiny two-room apartment where cigarette smoke curls around the dirty dishes, where the bed is never made but the sheets are always clean. Where nicotine-stained fingers run through bright blue hair and where there are more DVDs than books.

It's a dream and Indigo is living it.