Front of card: A beautiful stock photograph of autumn leaves falling against a crisp blue sky. A weathered barn is in the background, and a small stream runs through the foreground of the picture.

Inside: “I could get a taste of this. A mouthful of this earth and clean air to get me out of here. In this room, trapped again. And I have given up on women.”


Front of card: A golden sunset on a Pacific coast.

Inside: “I’ve been able to not feel for almost 16 years straight, but tonight I can see the weight of my mother’s body making the most innocent indentation on a mattress 25 hundred miles from here. And I can feel every kind thing my father did for us now that I’m a man who understands what it takes to make even the smallest things happen. And tonight I know that to stay with my girlfriend will mean watching us both age through life’s finite amount of days, and that is my true fear of commitment. I stay awake most nights wrestling with love and death.”


Front of card: A strong, proud profile of a nesting bald eagle. He seems to be sizing up an entire North American canyon from this treetop vantage point.

Inside: “Close this card and get another look at this mean-ass predator fiend. Not to be trusted. I’ve sighted this bird a dozen times in L.A. and New York alone, man. Barely overeducated, Range Rover-driving, wicked corporate pickpockets tempting me with cash and lunches. Those bloody talons, just out of the camera’s range. They ignore you for two decades to make you think they’re not looking, but they would swipe film rights from babies and grandmothers if they had the chance. I’m through with this shit. Eagles like this are killing me, man.”


Front of card: A green field in late spring plays host to a gaggle of hot-air-balloon enthusiasts. The balloonists are in various stages of lazy, dreamy flight ranging from just starting off to being all the way at the far horizon.

Inside: “What do you want from me! I’m sick of every single person trying to take, take, take! And feeling like they know me. If so many people know me, why am I so lonely! Who is Mr. Popular having sex with tonight? Nobody! Mr. Popular is grinding out copy for cards, for ads, for scripts, because he is addicted to his lifestyle. He is addicted to trying for something he can’t even describe. He is addicted to hotel Scotch and sitting in a room in Chicago with his laptop. But what the hell did you ever do?”


Front of card: An older French gentleman smiles and waves as he walks near the Seine on a beautiful morning. A pretty woman is passing through the shot on a black-and-gray bicycle. She’s got a baguette tied to the little rack on the back of the bicycle.

Inside: “Oh, please. Like this old guy’s not just mentally undressing this chick. Look at the woman! A stunning portrait of sexual vitality basically taunting the old guy. There’s your sex offender, America. She should be arrested! I’m just screwing with your head … just trying to make you laugh, man. She’s cool. Me, I long for the day I’m free of the urge, like the old French man. This burn and moan kills you on the road! Speaking of which, does this hotel have a bar in it? Because as soon as I e-mail these off, I basically got four grand to have some fun with, and I can’t be the only living person staying here.”