bipolaroid ☹ andtrick

o n e

Click.

The familiar sound of Patrick taking a photograph with his old, battered polaroid rang through his ears. He smiled slightly and shook the photo.

Sure, he wasn't famous, but he enjoyed what he did. Fame wasn’t everything to him.

He sat down on a bench and looked through his book of pictures, placing the new one beside the others. He sighed and held his head in his hands.

Sometimes, it's the shitty people who get all the good things.

He remembered his step brother, Joe, saying that. Like shitty writers who got fame when others were barely passing by, or shitty singers (@ Britney Spears) won all the glory when others got none.

(Kidding Britney ily)

But that was fine. Patrick settled for what he could get and was content with it.

He jumped as his phone rang and fumbled for it, answering. It was Joe.

“Patrick? Hey.”

Patrick furrowed his eyebrows. The other man sounded upset.

“Dad died.”