Some nice ladies took this picture of me and then moved out so I could move in to this converted warehouse space with my S.O. and make my 10,000 attempts at an omelette. Standing between two runs of terrible beige formica cabinets with grey countertops in our old kitchen with hundred year old blonde-brown narrow-slat wood floors of historic Arts District freight depot. There are knives on a magnetic rack, a clock, and a pink-ish oven mitt hanging on a generic off-white wall behind me. The folding bamboo dishrack, from Little Tokyo up the street, is full of drying dishes next to a double stainless steel sink. One basin is full of soapy water, the other with colanders, in an endless cycle of cleaning as I go/went/continue to go. I have uncharacteristically grown out my unruly semi-short length mostly salt and slightly pepper wavy hair, too much stubble and appear to have a double-chin since I haven't yet to this day learned how to take a selfie or let myself be photographed so my chin is pressed in. I have a slightly awkward smirk and I'm wearing a black not-popped collared super cheap discount American Apparel polo shirt from back in the day, before Dov Charney become widely known as a creep, accompanied with blue jeans, a clashing faux-pas my former wife would have never let happened, an blue and white oven mit on my right hand and proudly offering out with an extended left arm on a classic baby blue mid-century square platter a "tortilla de patata" style overly browned potato and egg round omelette the size of a decent saute pan I had on hand and it was delicious... Would AI have generated something with this many run-on sentences? I submit that it would not.