Charlie Bogard stretches across a bench, his lean frame bent forward as he rests his weight on his hands, the soles of his brown, clean-shaven feet pressed into the wood. Legs spread wide, he arches his back, arms locked behind his head, the bench tilting just enough to lift his toes toward the light. Close-ups lock in on his feet, bare, unpolished, the toes curling as he shifts his weight, the arches straining against the grain. Somewhere between the stretch and the slump, his legs rise, knees bent, the bench his only support as he lies half on his side, the soles of his feet still the focus.
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