The Camera Stayed in the Bag

Seven-twelve AM. The block looked exactly like I thought it would, and nothing like I expected.

I have been meaning to walk Simone's street since she named it in October, not the October of this post, last October, the one that keeps arriving before I've decided what to do with it. I went this morning without deciding to go. Put on the jacket, put the camera in the bag, locked the door. The camera is still in the bag. I didn't take a single frame.

I am not sure what that means. I walked the whole block, stood in front of the dry cleaner's window for longer than was strictly necessary, turned the corner where the character of the neighborhood shifts into something quieter and more residential.

The dry cleaner's window. Still there.

The light was the right light, the low October side-angle that has been my preferred direction since before I knew I had a preferred direction. I could have taken thirty frames. I took none.

The corner where the block changes.

There is a version of this post where I write about what that confirms, and there is a version where I write about what it doesn't. I think both versions are equally true, which is something I am going to sit with for a while before I decide if that's a satisfying answer or just the draft-folder sentence passing itself off as one.