Honestly, it doesn't. I don't know if any camera ever could. I don't know if the technology exists for a camera to understand the kind of golden happiness spring brings to a grimy street corner. Or I'm just not a very talented photographer.
There's an older, tattooed man scribbling in a blue binder at a table just outside the window where I sit. He keeps pouring himself what looks like coffee out of a Nalgene and into a plastic cup.
But I try.
There's an older, tattooed man scribbling in a blue binder at a table just outside the window where I sit. He keeps pouring himself what looks like coffee out of a Nalgene and into a plastic cup.
Occasionally, he stops to pull a handful of muffin out of a Dunkin Donuts bag and toss it across the sidewalk for the birds. He keeps hitting the Indian family next to him with crumbs. They were quite tolerant until he lit a cigarette. Shooting him dirty glares all the while, the family rose and moved inside to a table right behind me. I don't mind. Their daughter is absolutely adorable.
No comments:
Post a Comment