A
s I recall, it was hot. A lot of us were sucking down water and sweating it out as fast as we drank it. We were tripping all over each other. I stepped on someone. I turned around to apologize mostly with my eyes because we couldn’t hear anything.
They guy I stepped on held has hands out as if to say it’s all good. Then he pointed at something behind me. I thought that I was going to be run over.
Nope.
He was pointing at the shadows the brass players made with their instruments. I made as many pictures as I could and then got out of there as they were headed straight toward me. And, they weren’t stopping.
I never saw my new “friend.” I wanted to thank him for the picture. I would have never seen it on my own. I was too busy heading in the wrong direction.
On that day, I was doing that a lot. I’m not sure what it was. It could have been the heat, the sweat, or my timing was off. Usually, I’m pretty instinctual on the streets.
I made my usual crop of good, but standard, pictures. But, this one. It sneaks up on you. I think it was one of my best from that second line year.
STORYTELLER 
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