Thursday, July 23, 2009

Ridge Street

Smoke, ash, and rain. There were so many lights and there was such an overwhelming sense of urgency, though there was nothing that I could do. It was very cold. Many of the streets were blocked off. But pedestrians are like ants. You can’t effectively contain them. Curiosity always has its way. Billowing memories rose to the sky and rained ash on the lens of my Nikon, which I cleaned later with a cloth. That must be a bitter taste, my friend. There’s an asshole taking pictures of everything that you ever owned, all of it on fire. All of your possessions turned to ash, later to be wiped away with cloth and discarded without ceremony. At least you grabbed your coat. At least you had that. Despite the fire, it was wicked cold, and my hands trembled from it. It was hard to keep focus, hard to grasp. It was the week after Christmas.

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