"A friend saw my Instagram recently and called me concerned that I was in a dark place. I had recent posted nude photos of a man in a fetal position and he felt compelled to reach out to me, ask me about my drinking frequency, my sleep patterns, if I was still in pain from my last break up. I told him, 'No. I'm just reading more. And when I'm not doing that I'm taking long walks at night alone then coming home and crying in the shower.' 'Well okay. I just wanted to make sure you were happy,' he said. 'Thanks for call,' I said. 'I appreciate your concern. I gotta run though. I've paid someone to spank my bottom for one hour with the back side of a hairbrush. She's here drinking all my whiskey and the clock is ticking.' He was quiet for a second, then he said, 'Okay. Just no more weird photos on Instagram alright?' 'You have my word,' I said. 'Take care.' "#instastories @zoetrope_mag #writersofinstagram #instafiction #whiskey #spanking #hashtag

A photo posted by SHEPHARD/HOUSE (@vickidarobot) on Oct 8, 2016 at 1:16pm PDT

The air conditioning was broken above the jump seats, Nick hadn't called all week and it was one of those days where Grace wished she could play country music throughout the cabin.

A photo posted by SHEPHARD/HOUSE (@vickidarobot) on Oct 13, 2016 at 12:03pm PDT

Sister Mary thought a hi-tech motion sensor light would keep thieves from taking off with the scooter that all the women shared. Sister Theresa thought something else would do the trick. In the end, they compromised and did both.

A photo posted by SHEPHARD/HOUSE (@vickidarobot) on Sep 18, 2016 at 7:33pm PDT

The day Elsa put up the hammock I was still pretty exhausted from all the surgeries. I watched them from my window. They were laying there under the trees that shaded the summer sun and I missed them. They were right downstairs but I missed them. Everything was distant and the window glass, a lookout to another distant place... When I finally built up the courage to go down there, I could feel my stitches stretching in my skin. I pulled up my shorts with no desire to see the blood that I knew was probably seeping through the bandages. I grunted. Groaned. Complained to myself. I knocked over a water pitcher and gathered dust on my ass as I slid down the stairs one by one by one... When I finally made it down there, they were still asleep in the garden with the light through leaves swaying on their faces. I stood on my own for the first time in a month and unable to get all of their sleeping bodies in one frame, I instead took this picture. July 2016.

A photo posted by SHEPHARD/HOUSE (@vickidarobot) on Aug 25, 2016 at 11:47am PDT

It was 1959 and Bobby learned to kiss by watching his brother "french" Darlene Kaye from down the street while they sat in the back seat in the driveway. From his upstairs window he could kinda see what was going on. He knew that while you kissed, you had to move your hands a lot, touching the other person's bits while they touched yours. He wasn't so excited about all that, but the kissing part, that was magic. All the stars did it, you know the cowboys and detectives, and in that one picture above the fireplace, his mom and dad did it once too. But this, this strange photo by the community pool threw a wrench in everything. "What the fuck were these people doing? The nose in the mouth?," Bobby wondered. "No thanks." It was several years later before Bobby now Robert realized that kissing was ok but CPR...now that's where the action is.

A photo posted by SHEPHARD/HOUSE (@vickidarobot) on Aug 22, 2016 at 8:14pm PDT

Rachel closed the bar but let her favorite people stay. She booted the prissy wannabe French girls who she knew were local LA girls working at the makeup academy down the street. She let the sweaty guy they were talking to stay because he smiled a lot and danced to everything even the samba music that had cleared the dance floor hours before. Her squad had snuck in late. Bouncing in at 2:15, fresh from locking up at other bars in the area. She poured herself a drink, found the AUX cable, plugged in her phone and celebrated having the keys to the dopest underground dance spot in the city.

A video posted by SHEPHARD/HOUSE (@vickidarobot) on Jul 30, 2016 at 11:30am PDT

It was a Wednesday and Paul decided to go dancing on one of those summer nights so hot that even the air conditiong unit was sweating. The air in the basement club was thick, the women were beautiful and the music was too good to stand still. He ordered a drink, some whiskey something. Caught ear of two women speaking in French, walked up and asked, "are you from LA?" Its was a cheap question and he knew the answer but it was the beginning of a long adventurous night.

A photo posted by SHEPHARD/HOUSE (@vickidarobot) on Jul 30, 2016 at 11:10am PDT

"I dunno, I think it was a Tuesday..." "When we met?" "Yeah." "You're failing at this." They both laugh. "It wasn't? I thought it was Taco Tuesday." "Is this what you're going to tell my dad when you ask him if you can marry me?" "What? I'm not--is that still a thing people do?" "You're a terrible liar. I love you but you're a terrible liar." "Who's lying?" "You ask if you can visit my parents. You hate visiting my parents. You buy plane tickets three months early. You hate planning things. You hate planning trips...Look, I know what you're up to." "You do?" "I do." "Hmm. Well now what?" "We play a game where we both pretend that we don't know what's going to happen." "...ok....that sounds good...but what if I told you that your parents and your sister were right outside and that right now the ring was in my back pocket." She stopped for a second. Surprised at herself that she'd lost her breath even for just a moment. He smiles. She smiles back. He says," you believed it for a second. Didn't you?" "For a second. Yeah," she says. "Okay then...I think I can play this game." ....................................................................... ...................................... ..........................................this story written by Jaime (everyone says my stories are too dark so here's a story for beach readers) Anderton. Written for shephardhouse and their insta-stories project.

A photo posted by SHEPHARD/HOUSE (@vickidarobot) on Jul 26, 2016 at 8:31pm PDT

For John's final project at art school, he chose a performance piece where he rented a John Deere 35D Mini Excavator to tear up Santa Monica Blvd in Hollywood, California at 3 AM on a Thursday night. He then hired two Argentinian stage actors known worldwide for their ability to evoke deep emotion with subtle expressions. Together with the help of an Academy Award winning costume designer, they posed for 7 hours without movement to exhibit what John called "the perfect reflection of a post-Brexit world in fear of a Trump presidency"... And while John would go on to successfully deplete the entire cache of his Kickstater campaign on the resulting legal fees he incurred for the destruction of public property, public nuisance and resisting arrest, he also made the art world incredibly proud by proving once again to the few dozen people that gave a damn that most art students are terrible people and will most likely go on to do something else with their lives... - Jaime Anderton, former art student

A photo posted by SHEPHARD/HOUSE (@vickidarobot) on Jul 2, 2016 at 3:40pm PDT

Colleen - "This picture is from that one time Krystal and I did coke in the bathroom at Bonnie's engagement party at her mom's house in Delaware. I want you to post it on your Instagram." Me - "Why'd can't you post it to yours?" "She doesn't follow me. She follows you. She's @ spaceboobs with a pig emoticon at the end. Not the snout but the whole pig. Like side view pig." "And why am I doing this?" "Because I want her to see it so she gets all nostalgic and calls me or finds me on Snapchat." "What should I write for the caption?" "Write 'let's get high and watch RHOA' cuz that was our favorite show." "I don't know what that means." "It's good that you dont. Just give me your phone."

A photo posted by SHEPHARD/HOUSE (@vickidarobot) on Jun 30, 2016 at 2:57pm PDT

The way light came into Lydia's apartment at the end of the day made her miss her hometown. Mostly the stillness and the people. Here in the rented apartment where she paid no rent but shared the space with four other girls, there was often quiet but not stillness. Four languages between them had made silence the common language but they stirred always. Sometimes Lydia felt she could hear the other girls eyes shifting from side to side. Feel them picking their cuticles. Biting into their lips. The idea of living in a house full of wannabe models was appealing only to men who subscribed to the same magazines that these five girls aspired to be featured in...Sort of. Lydia had her eyes on W or Vogue. Elle maybe. But now this arrangement was the thing. The gateway perhaps. Right now just a moment to get through. Free rent in exchange for working the night clubs in the meatpacking. Three nights a week in hopes that one conversation would lead to another where later a bright opportunity would exist. To be noticed. By chance. Something to call home about and share with the people she missed. #storytelling

A photo posted by SHEPHARD/HOUSE (@vickidarobot) on Jun 26, 2016 at 1:21pm PDT

Her room was opposite mine and we had grown close enough to where she'd invite me in under any circumstance. This day she text me while I was making breakfast. "Bring your camera," she said. "Let's play." We took several pictures, but this ended up being her favorite...the one she didn't know I was taking. She moved out a month later when she fell in love. Somewhere back East, this photo is on her wall.

A photo posted by SHEPHARD/HOUSE (@vickidarobot) on May 21, 2016 at 8:33am PDT

We talked about him most of the night. Talked about perspective. "Life is long," I said. "Yeah, but right now," she said. "It still hurts."

A photo posted by SHEPHARD/HOUSE (@vickidarobot) on May 19, 2016 at 12:46am PDT

Night in Brooklyn. Image1of3. I took this after a long conversation about pickles. That guy there is Jeri. He spelled it that way, with an "i" not an "rry". His spot here, he said, "Has the best pickles in Brooklyn!" "Right here?," I asked, feeding his fire. "Right f*cking here." "Can I have one?" "You can have 20!" "I'll just start with one" "Let's do it. Alright... 20 dollars." "What!?! 20?! 20 dollars for 20, or 20 dollars for one?" "For one. These pickles man..." "Jeri come on, man." "I'm telling you, bro." "Jeri, I am way too drunk and it is way too late for me to be f*cking around with you and some pickles." "Alright okay...that's fine," he said. Then shyly, "Take my picture." "What?," I asked him. "With the camera around your neck. Take my picture." "You serious?" "Yeah right here. Under this light. See this light? My girlfriend took one of me standing right here with her phone and it looked amazing." "Right there?" "Right here. You stand over there and I'll stand here under the light. Okay?" "Alright. Okay...you ready." "Yep." "Is that your pose? You're not gonna--you're not gonna smile?... Okay. Guess not. One, two...three." #nightinbrooklyn

A photo posted by SHEPHARD/HOUSE STUDIOS (@vickidarobot) on Sep 15, 2015 at 6:18pm PDT

Night in Brooklyn, Image 2of3 So it's 2AM or so...that's when this photo was taken, and my friend Sam sees this girl carrying her dog down the street. It's a cute dog with a nice sad face, so Sam catches up to the lady with the dog and her friends and asks, "Why are you carrying your pup?" I'm wondering why the pup is even out and about at all at this hour, but Sam asks a good question too. "His feet are tired," she says. "And how do you know?," he asks. "He told me, assh*le." "You speak dog?," he asks, getting a little pissed. "I'm talking to you, right?" She had a point... That was 3 months ago. As of today, they've been dating 3 months. #nightinbrooklyn

A photo posted by SHEPHARD/HOUSE STUDIOS (@vickidarobot) on Sep 16, 2015 at 8:31pm PDT

Night in Brooklyn, Image 3of3 This is my bed. Well, was my bed when I lived in the city. It was a sh*t bed that pulled down from the wall in a small apartment that was way too small for the price. I remember the first night I moved in, it was 1 am and the rental lady walked me in. I asked where the bed was and she reached for a handle on the wall. I almost threw up, knowing how much I had committed to pay. New York. Anyways, this photo wasn't taken that night. It was taken another night. That light spilling in is street light, not the sun. I had to close the blinds tight to keep it out and wear a mask I gotten for free on a JetBlue flight. But, the night I took this, I came home, walked through the darkness, over to my bed and saw a man. It was around 4:15 am. I lived alone. But, when I got home swaying from a long night out, there he was. This big f*cker. Bigger than me. Boots still on, caked in sh*t. Laying dead or asleep in my little bed. White rolled eyes behind open eyelids. Drooling into his long matted hair. Smelling of urine. In my apartment. In my bed. I didn't recognize his face, but I knew his keys. A chain on his hip round enough to push a grapefruit through with 140 plus rings pushed together, tighter than teeth in a crowded mouth. Raymond's keys. The super. The guy who by day was sharp on sports stats and surprisingly quick to fix a toilet or lay a rat trap. But at night, he was known for this. In a building where all the apartments were the same, Ray often stumbled home wasted from The Rusty and went through his key ring till he found the key that fist HIS lock. Tonight he found the key that fit mine. When I woke him up, he nearly knocked me out. Calling me some woman's name. When I told him it was me, he told me kindly to, "Get out and go to hell!" I did neither. After two minutes, he got his bearings, found the door, said," Bye kid." Then, something crazy about Jackie Robinson. I took this photo of my bed, my Murphy bed, after Ray had gotten a bit of shut eye and used it as a restroom on a cold September night in Brooklyn. #nightinbrooklyn Thanks you guys for reading. Hope you enjoyed. If you like them please share with others.

A photo posted by SHEPHARD/HOUSE STUDIOS (@vickidarobot) on Sep 17, 2015 at 8:58pm PDT

...When I turned back, Lars had disappeared...

A photo posted by SHEPHARD/HOUSE STUDIOS (@vickidarobot) on Sep 11, 2015 at 11:00pm PDT

#fashion

A photo posted by SHEPHARD/HOUSE STUDIOS (@vickidarobot) on Sep 3, 2015 at 5:03pm PDT

By the time the sun set, it was over and done with. They had missed everything. The boys had left and it was only him, and her. "You want one of these beers?," she asked. "I shouldn't," he said... Then, after it was quiet for a long time, he couldn't help it..."Alisa, do you remember seventh grade? ...Bobby and Tanner's house? That party?" She looked at him and smiled shly, "Yeah. Our truth or dare kiss?" "Yeah. In the basement...You remember?," he asked. "Of course. It was my first kiss too."

A photo posted by SHEPHARD/HOUSE STUDIOS (@vickidarobot) on Aug 17, 2015 at 9:18pm PDT

There were books and books but then there was this book. The one that he and his wife had been using to write love notes to each other in since the 11th grade. Tucked behind, in a row of sappy lust covered romance novels he had dug it out once again to write a little something in the margin of next open page. But, he stopped after reading something. A note that made him want to cry for the first time since the birth of their son.

A photo posted by Rico Patron (@vickidarobot) on Mar 17, 2015 at 7:16pm PDT

-And after she said that, he had to step out for a smoke. He hadn't in 2 months but right now...he need one. Just one. Maybe a drink too. 1 year, 15 days since his last. But whatever. He could start again tomorrow.

A photo posted by Rico Patron (@vickidarobot) on Mar 7, 2015 at 10:19pm PST

Sometimes at night, Yusef would watch the trains until the police asked him to leave.

A photo posted by Rico Patron (@vickidarobot) on Jan 7, 2015 at 1:10am PST

A man comes face to face with his old friend.

A photo posted by Rico Patron (@vickidarobot) on Feb 16, 2015 at 9:32pm PST

A photo posted by Rico Patron (@vickidarobot) on Jan 28, 2015 at 8:12am PST

A photo posted by Rico Patron (@vickidarobot) on Dec 16, 2014 at 12:13am PST