Two weeks ago I saw this guy in Central Park, and asked for his photo. “Sorry man,” he told me, “I would, but I’m in a huge hurry.”
Yesterday I saw him again in the East Village, and again asked for his photo. Same response: “Sorry man. I would, but I’m in a huge hurry.”
“You told me that last week,” I said.
“Oh shit,” he replied. “Sorry dude. I say that to everyone. Nothing personal. You can snap a pic if you want.”
The Brooklyn Bridge. New York City.
When the clouds pull their veils back from the sky’s face after a storm, the light hits the world at such an angle that even the most rigid man-made creations glimmer like the water’s surface in the sun.
If you could distill New York City down to an essence so pure that it glimmered in such a way, it would look like this: captured, cooled, magnificent in its indistinguishable hand-woven-steel beauty.
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6AM. The sound of waves and clear blue skies.
I’m scarcely a morning person, but I will most definitely reconsider if I can always wake up to this.
Self-portrait.
Flower Island, Palawan, Philippines. April 2012.
