Haven’t you taken enough photos of dark laneways and air conditioning vents? Take a photo of this window instead.
So I do. The evening, and the memory, are so much the better for it…
Haven’t you taken enough photos of dark laneways and air conditioning vents? Take a photo of this window instead.
So I do. The evening, and the memory, are so much the better for it…
We threaded through the laneways, connecting the dots and drawing a line from the station to our regular after-work coffee spot. On the way we found which shiny cobbled paths reflected the light the best. I thought what a beautiful city it was in the rain, which struck me as lucky, given that it rains here all the time…
I was on my way into the city to meet my wife…
Trains are for plans, for destinations and journeys. But they are also for wandering, meandering, and drifting away…
Looking up, it was hard to tell whether they were offices, or cells… perhaps there’s a deeper meaning in that…
When a thing is not a thing, but still has weight, purpose, momentum, character… when it is lighter than air, but as heavy as anticipation, opportunity… when light and shadow meet in expectation, and neither is the same again.
There was still time, to sit under the trees, listen to them slowly sigh in the wind, their branches moving in hidden patterns.
In fact, there’s always time for that…
The nights here are never really dark. They are stained with the neon lights of skyscrapers, tinted by tungsten overpasses and freeway floodlights…
The old and the new sometimes exist literally side-by-side, pressed into each other, clumsily, awkwardly, an uncomfortable pairing that leads only to disregard, disdain, and forgetting.