This isn’t a gallery—it’s a crime scene. What you’re seeing here is evidence. Snapshots of America in the raw, disgusting, and corporate shit stains. I’m not here to sell you pretty sunsets or symmetrical cappuccinos. I’m here to show you the blood under the fingernails of the American experiment.

These images aren’t just photographs—they’re indictments, love letters, confessions. My lens is a witness, and it doesn’t blink. I follow people, not trends. I shoot stories, not stock. If you're looking for serenity, you took the wrong turn off the interstate. But if you're hungry for photos about how I see it—however ugly, beautiful, or absurd—you're in the right place.

I’m a photographer the way a barfly is a philosopher: by necessity and obsession. This is sociology with shutter speed, journalism with grain. It’s about people, always people—the dreamers, the drifters, the rage-filled rednecks and the love-starved waitresses. The America that never makes it to the brochure.

So take a look. But don’t just look—see. The country is talking. Sometimes it whispers. Sometimes it screams. I just try to catch it before it disappears.