Where One Can
Tuesday. Another week, another week, another week onward. On through the valley of smog roamed the photographer: his camera at his side, his body on the street, his head not far from Montana. What does he see as he trundles into his city? Images of light and dark, dramatic and stark; street folks hiding their faces?
I take it you didn't get any photographs today?
Not a one, not a one. A certain amount of drama, though, as I walked my short walk during the noon hour. Nothing out there on the street, of course: all of it happening inside my head. One gets one's excitement where one can, even here in Oakland.
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