Iidabashi, Tokyo
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paris. late evening. the street glistens from a recent rain. no one speaks. the woman checks her phone. the man, holding a lamp like a torch, walks as if he's stepping into a play. no one asks why. no one needs to. the scene explains itself, and nothing at all.
he didn’t hesitate. he stepped in like he belonged there. no glance left, no glance right. just the bottle in his hand, and the weight of someone who’s done this a thousand times. there was a breeze behind him, but he brought his own weather.
Taking a break from shopping, Keswick. (2763)
Watching a Violinist, York (2761)
