"free bouncy rides" anyone?
they don't know each other.
"let's see it." I walk over, they scoot, and I show them the pic.
"You're a lucky man." "why?" i say. "after the war my grandfather
punched the photographer in the nose... smashed his camera. he's
irish." i look at him, smell beer and middle of the night. "i hope
you don't emulate?" "it's a family trait," he says, "but it was a
different era." "it's in the manual." i say. "what's in what manual?"
"the photographers manual... you never take pictures of the
irish." his girlfriend laughs.
i think he's tired, not sad.
it wasn't raining.
that's my water.
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