I’ve always had a morbid fascination with little dead things.

I remember, as a 10-year-old, passing a dead squirrel on my way to school and then repeatedly stopping to see its stomach fill with maggots. As a teen, I took a number of pictures of a bloated raccoon corpse, focusing on the intestines hanging out. I discarded these images, apparently revolted by my own revolting fascination.I carry on today, stopping to capture the little corpses left to the side.

And wondering what is wrong with me.