I'm living on coffee, cigarettes and hospitality food. My bags and things are all over this hotel room in Dallas, but the scene could easily be in London, Paris, New York of LA. My eyes are burning, my knees hurt and I hate to say it, but a certain and vital part of my nether region is beginning to smell like peanut butter. Welcome to life on tour.
The most embarassing is when friends ask you to meet up with them and you have to tell them "Sorry I can't go to that place" because you're fully aware photographers will be waiting for you there. I feel like such a weasle when things like that happen, like the world has to revolve around me.