Processing found film usually produces nothing of value. About 70% of what comes out of the tank ends up in the trash. Visitors to this website are spoiled. You guys think it's all glory. Well, it ain't.

I'm happy to get a few frames from a roll of twelve.


When I was a kid there was a Woolworth's store in my town. The floor was made of 2x4's that squeaked when you walked on them.

You could buy comic books, bolts of fabric, clothes, pet fish and parakeets. You could get a hamburger at the cafeteria too.

Sometimes a parakeet would escape its cage and fly around the store.

I had a Woolworth's parakeet. His name was "Pretty Boy." I didn't name him. My mother did. He broke his neck while attempting to land on our freshly waxed linoleum floor.

My mother tried to revive him by putting him under the kitchen faucet. Surprisingly, it didn't help.

I buried Pretty Boy behind the shed. His coffin was a Tom McGann shoe box.


Partial rolls produce "where the hell is this ? photographs."

So, where the hell is this ?


I've seen this shoreline. So have you.