I’m always late...
Maybe it's a childish playful mission to beat the notion of time, or simply a lack of ability to time manage. It is never more prominent than when I’m shooting. Sometimes the vacuum I enter when I look through the viewfinder is transporting. I'm often taken to a land of calm, exciting and serene timelessness. When I emerge for air, a sudden realisation usually hits.
We stopped off en route and I was told at 5.45 I was to return to the car. A small hour window to head out and play. There was only one street so I roamed it one way, then the other.
Nearing my curfew I stopped outside a sunless pool den. Despite the few players the energy was loud. I waited outside peering in with contemplation; aware I was being watched from both inside and out of the club. I squeezed through the narrow crowded entrance and watched two old men play. I shot a few frames waiting patiently for them to position themselves near the posters on show.
I had one last shot. Before using it I put down my camera and paced the room, now also aware that my watch had hit quarter to. The old men were still the gems in the room. Their faces marked with character and their friendship full of stories.
I felt my little Nokia, light as a feather vibrate in my pocket.
I opted instead for the other table; spun round and snapped at a young boy as I saw the only light in the room spill into his eyes. Saying my thanks I skipped out and practiced my best apologetic face for once again running late...OAO x