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I know exactly where this starts: standing in front of the fridge, door open, chilly air spilling out, pretending I’m just “checking what I have” when I already know every box and canister by heart. 

On the outside, it’s just a normal family fridge: milk, leftovers, a suspicious jar of pickles. But crack open the deli drawer and you hit the real nerve center of my photography: a chaotic, overstuffed archive of hope, anxiety, nostalgia, and way too many “special occasion” rolls that never seem to meet a special-enough occasion.

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