1. The first thing that caught my eye about Lothar Wolleh's photography was that all of his photos were portraits.
2. I see a scruffy, grumpy looking older man. He's sitting alone on what appears to be a throne. He's holding some sort of staff.
I smell fresh, clean marble floor. I smell metal from his necklaces and chains. I smell freshness.
I hear complete silence. The occasional echoing of footsteps on the tile and marble. The shuffling of the patriarch's feet.
I taste bitter, cold nothing. My breath tastes of nothing. I taste purely nothing.
I feel drafty air brushing my skin in this solid room. I feel my throat and mouth dry like a drought. I fell my fingers fidgeting, wondering what he'll say next.
I see a guard looking back at me. I see his perfectly handled uniform. Then I look down to my tattered clothes, ashamed.
I smell the guard's crisp uniform. The smell strikes me as new, fresh. I smell shoe polish.
I hear his stiff breathing, out, in, out, in. I hear footsteps in the distance. I hear more sharp breathing, in, out, in, out.
I taste nothing at all.
I feel drafts of air against me.
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