Thursday. I was leaving the office this evening when I noticed what I assume was a news photographer walking rapidly down the sidewalk, two Nikon F5's over his shoulder, one mounted with the big 80 - 200mm lens, the other with what I assume was a 35 - 70, both f 2.8's, a not uncommon setup. I say news photographer because the cameras looked beat to shit, as if they were the first two off the original production line, serial numbers 2 and 3, checked out and used by a thousand different photographers, many of whom were, um, careless. As I said, he was walking rapidly, crossing the street to the Marriott, and I was walking along behind him for a short while before making a left to catch the bus. When I heard the motorcycles.

Now it was 5:30 and I wanted to get home and listen to the news and get my head away from the office, but right here in front of me were a dozen motorcycle cops forming up in a column of two's preparing to go somewhere and do something. And here was this young news photographer in a dirty plaid shirt hot on the chase. Did I mention I had an F5 of my own in a camera bag over my shoulder, ready for, um, anything? Was this the fabled main chance itself, fame and photographic fortune in one lucky shot? Probably. I thought so, at least, as I got on my bus and took a comfortable seat, plenty of room at 5:30 in the afternoon, I noticed, watching the column of cops recede into the distance.

Forming up to take some boring someone somewhere in a big black car, no doubt, dark tinted glass blocking a shot, film or bullet. Whoop.

My thoughts are with Jill who had a biopsy this afternoon testing for breast cancer. Jill was one of the first journalers to welcome me into the journaler fold when I started writing in 1998. I'm a terrible correspondent and our communication has been fitful, to say the least, but I've always followed her adventures. I've had biopsies of my own this year, another coming up in a couple of months, and although prostate cancer isn't quite the same scary thing as breast cancer, it gives you plenty to think about. (You tend to push it down underneath there somewhere and just generally feel numb about it.) So there's more here than a little sympathy.

Hey, kid. Do good. Take care.