June 18, 2019:
Jeans jacket, acne scars, ocean breeze on the rocks. Jet-black hair, self-cut, prominently broken nose once you notice. Thin-but-strong, entirely self-confident, deeply in love with the photographer.
There've been debilitating periods of extreme depression. But not here. He's overwhelmed by his self-confident sense of mission. He's The Organizer, he's extremely skilled, he's conscious of his eloquence and perhaps most surprisingly of his youthful good looks.
He's capable of great kindness and great pain. He's passionately in love with and even more passionately in lust with the woman he then and for twenty years views as the love-of-his-life. He's unskilled in relationship and profoundly invested in his calling. He's unconsciously selfish, as though he knows his value and subordinates all other things to its rigidly disciplined realization.
He thinks he's in pain, but he has no idea.
Half a decade later nearly none of this will apply. His identity and his world will be shattered, he'll be addicted, he'll be friendless, he'll be without direction and at the bottom of the bottom he'll sleep in Golden Gate Park, amid the homeless, where he feels he belongs.
Today it's sunny on the rocks. There's no hint of the devastation to come. He's in love, he's in lust, he's focused on saving the world. Let everything else fall where it will.