He's a baby in this picture. Five or six months old, with pudgy arms and a dazed expression. His eyes are big and light blue, gazing helplessly at the camera.

He's one year old, adorable as he sucks a lime green pacifier and sits on the lap of an unseen adult. Roger wears a red one-piece decorated with dinosaurs.

Roger, at five years old. He's at somebody's long forgotten birthday party, leaning across the table for more juice. His boyish face turned to the photographer, squinting. It's summer, and there are Popsicle stains down his t-shirt.

The eight year old smiles a big, gummy smile. Two teeth are missing, and he proudly holds up both teeth in a plastic bag. There's someone in the back ground- probably his father, but it's too blurry to tell.

He's twelve now; adolescent, and he didn't want the picture taken for Christmas. He stands far back from the camera, crossing his arms defiantly over a navy sweater he didn't want to wear. That was the Roger his friends knew- he hated being told what to do.

Fourteen years old and he leans against his living room window. A guitar rests easily in his lap and he is picking out a song, oblivious to his mother taking the picture. His hair is shaggy because his parents wanted it short and he's wearing shorts though it's December.

His first day of Driver's Ed. and his mother insisted on a picture in front of the car. He thinks it's embarrassing and sullenly leans in front of their van, glancing down. His parents don't know that he's already been driving since he was fourteen.

Roger's seventeen and it's the dreaded prom photo. He hasn't left the house and he's already ripped off the tie that was forced on him. His arm awkwardly twists around his date, who's clad in bright red satin and poofy eighties hair. He looks more adult in a suit, but somewhat childish too- he's scowling because he was forced into the suit…and the picture and applying for a college he didn't want to go to and a million other little things that drove the wedge between him and his parents a little deeper.

He's eighteen now, and living in the greatest city in the world. A little scruffier, and thinner for the effort but happier than he's even been in his life. Wearing sunglasses and stubbly cheeks, he grins at the camera, as he reclines on a bench in the Park.

Roger's face glows bright white against the dark back ground of a nightclub. He and the two unknown girls with him all have red eye and stoned expressions. It's a Polaroid photo, and the remains of somebody's gin and tonic stain the corner.

He's leaning over the fire escape, burnt cigarette dangling from one finger and staring down at the photographer who's camera looks up. His lips look thinner and his face has a yellow tone. Roger's twenty, but looks older.

His first picture with Mark and Benny. They lean together awkwardly. Mark squints through chunky glasses, Benny wears a button down shirt but Roger is the epitome of a rocker, in a tank top that's ripped at the shoulder. His upper arm sports a tattoo so fresh the skin around it is still pink.

Mark and Roger sit on the edge of a fountain. It's the summer of '88 and boiling hot. Sweat stains their shirts and they squint at the sun. Roger clutches a beer in one hand and Mark holds a Coke.

Roger and April just after they met. They're holding hands somewhat awkwardly and smiling shyly at the camera. April's dyed hair is tousled and Roger's face is shiny and pink, He looks only a little drunk.

Mark, Maureen, April and Roger lean together. They're somewhat squished into the booth of some restaurant. Mark is smiling a wide, goofy grin and Maureen's cheek is pressed to his.

Collins and Roger are laughing hard, drinks in hand, not even posing. It's a dark, grainy photo. There wasn't enough lighting and Mark was probably drunk, hands wobbling when he took it. His blurred pink finger covers the corner of the photo.

He's smoking, his skin a little sallower and eyes a little more sunken. His guitar case is slung around his shoulder. He's standing outside some club. The neon sign is blurred in the picture, but the blue and pink light snakes its way into the little cracks at the edges of his too-big leather jacket.

Mark and Roger are sitting on opposite ends of the ratty couch. Mark looks down deliberately and a pale Roger scowls at the camera. The empty space between them is especially conspicuous.

Maureen is squeezed between Mark, Benny and Roger. She's smiling a huge lipstick-y smile. Her hair is frizzy and big, pressing against Mark, who looks a little lost and against Roger, whose piercing eyes look directly forward. Benny seems a bit uncomfortable there.

He's holding April on his lap somewhat delicately. She's wrapped in a moth eaten peach pashmina. He's wearing a sleeveless shirt, now two tattoos and a band-aid on the bottom of his forearm.

There are no pictures for a long period. Nobody wanted to take any. Mark has tons of films of Roger from this time, but he won't let anybody see them.

He has dark circles under his eyes and pale, pasty skin but somehow looks more whole, more real than he has in a long time. He, Mark, and Mimi lean against the railing of the fire escape. Mimi, in slightly ripped fishnets and bright pink go-go boots tilts her head slightly and smiles warmly at the camera, dark eyes glowing. Mark, who looks a bit unhealthy, is glancing toward Roger. Roger's arms are splayed over the railing and as he leans back, a black box is shown slightly under his untucked shirt.. He smiles a small, nervous grin.

Angel, rather attractive in a silky brown wig and navy blue stockings has her arm around Collins, while Mark and Roger are uncomfortably leaning against each other next to the pair. They're in front of the Life Cafe and it's raining. Mark's hair is plastered to his forehead and there are rain drops all over his glasses. Roger's too badass to feel the dampness and the cold.

Roger's arms are wrapped possessively around Mimi. She has on the tired carpet coat and too much silver eyeshadow, but she's smiling a wide smile and pressing her head against Roger's chest. He's looking down slightly, smiling softly at her uncontrollable hair.

Angel sits up in a hospital bed, with Mark and Roger sitting on either side of her. She isn't wearing a wig, and has an IV taped to her wrist, dark brown circles under her eyes and yet she's smiling pleasantly. Mark, on her left, has his hand awkwardly on her shoulder. He's looking down slightly and his glasses cast a shadow on the blanket, where his camera lays in wait.. Roger, on Angel's right, is facing forward, and not smiling. His eyes are glancing to the right, toward a brown smudge of hair just cut off by the edge of the photograph.

Another long period without pictures. He didn't bring a camera to Santa Fe.

He's cradling Mimi in his arms and she's sitting on his lap. She looks terrible. Her eyes are not fully open and her skin is pale white. She has bird shoulders. She's smiling drowsily. Roger's cheek gently presses against her head. He smiles sadly.

Again in a hospital room, Mimi rests in Roger's arms. She's wearing a blue plastic gown and has a skinny tube running under her nose. Her skin seems to have faded, lost that tan. Roger looks tired and worn. He's wearing his old leather coat, and inexplicably, Mark's scarf.

Roger, now twenty-six, sits at the birthday party he hadn't wanted. Naturally, it was Maureen's idea. He's sitting at the kitchen table, holding a beer and sulking. He's lost a lot of weight. Mark sits next to him, and has an arm around his shoulders. Mark's smiling a geeky, forced smile.

In a picture just like him as a fourteen year old, a thin, scraggly Roger sits on the table, leaning over his guitar and playing. Sheet music litters the floor and the cameraman goes unnoticed.

Collins and Roger sit together on a Park bench. Roger is wearing a sweater and his leather coat, although it's Fall. Collins has his hand on Roger's back supportively. Roger is actually smiling a somewhat dim smile.

Mark and Roger are standing outside a store. Roger is leaning against Mark, whose arm is gently curled around his back. His hair seems to have lost its shine and his skin has a grayish tone. There is a bruise on his hand, and another on his jaw.

Roger and Mark sit together on Roger's bed. Their arms are around each other's shoulders. Mark is in a t-shirt and Roger wears a sweater. Mark smiles softly and Roger looks a bit dazed.

He's squished between Maureen and Joanne. Maureen has her face right against his. She's grinning genuinely. Joanne has her head turned a bit towards Maureen. Her mouth is open as if she's about to say something. Roger looks a little worse, but he's trying to smile.

Roger stands in the loft, leaning slightly on a silver cane. He's thin and gaunt but he's smiling a big smile. Mark's scarf is draped around his neck. Mark is visible in the back ground of the picture, where he stands in the kitchen.

Mark's arms are supporting him as he and Roger stand outside the apartment building. Roger's left hand and arm are covered entirely in bandages. His right one clutches the cane. Mark's head is turned toward him. Roger's smiling widely.

Roger lays on that old, ugly couch, a tattered blanket covering him. His hair seems shaggy and unkempt and is cheeks are bony and pale. A smile brightens up his face though. A doughy white detached hand rests over the top of the couch, as if there is somebody standing behind.

He's leaning against the pillows in a hospital bed. His green plastic gown exposes his collar bone and the bruises on it. There's a Groshong line attached to his thin wrist. The blue veins stand out. But Roger is beaming, smiling a great wide smile that makes his eyes scrunch up and his teeth visible. He looks genuinely happy. Maybe he is.

Mark is sitting with him, holding him around his shoulder. Roger's head leans on Mark's shoulder. Mark looks terrible. He's looking down through those big, plastic rimmed glasses. Roger's attached to about four tubes. There is one running under his nose and around his head. His eyes are almost closed and he seems to be slipping out of Mark's grip. But there's pale, faint evidence of a smile on his grey lips. A single tear has stained the blanket between the boys, but it's impossible to tell who's it is.

He's a baby in this picture. Five or six months old, with pudgy arms and a dazed expression. His eyes are big and light blue, gazing helplessly at the camera. The framed picture rests on a beautiful stone as crisp orange leaves float down softly from the trees above.