WAN HAI A11, in New York, USA. January, 2024. Copyright Tom Turner

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My bff died yesterday.

I don’t have words. Not yet. I will—but today is for howling with rage and grimacing from the ragged laceration of grief, the sting, the disbelief. Raging against the dying of my friend Susan’s blinding, badass, beautiful light.

My.
BFF.
Died.
Yesterday.

I don’t know what to do with this. I don’t know how to do this.

I don’t know.

Thank you to my friends who’ve reached out, knowing our storied 17-year history. All my love right now goes to Mr. Susan for being her person, steadfast and true, and her daughter, whom she loved with a fire brighter than the sun.

I have so many portraits I’ve taken of her over the years. I found myself downloading them all this morning, before I knew she’d passed.

I’ll post this one now, because it’s perfect, and because she’d find it hilarious and awful and she’d beg me to take it down and then ask me put it back up, because that’s Susan. And I fucking love her for it.

I can’t do the past tense yet. It’s not real.

My bff died yesterday.

Also, FUCK CANCER RIGHT IN THE MOTHERFUCKING TEETH.

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Brooklyn. New York City.

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TWA Hotel, JFK Airport

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