Here’s a woman who should give up her day job to write and to photograph, but I’m happy with the doses she ministers.
Curiosity drives me where desire fails. My appetites are all passive, declining towards indolence. But the need to look and the impetus to know counter my inertia, and today I find myself a public curtain twitcher.
The second floor of a downtown café is bankside to a stream of life that bubbles intermittently through the street below. Cyclists. Walkers. Tourists in open-air horse-drawn carriages. Visitors in a garish green amphibious military surplus landing craft. Cars: pickups, SUVs. sedans windowless front and back to move the hot air, anxious status convertibles, motorcycles chopping by.
Today the story is heat and light. The byline is noise. The motif is vocal, a soundtrack curtain flapping back and forth over bright rags of conversation.
This is the place set aside only for curiosity, for writing on Tuesdays, and for refuge when the day invites me out.