Garoo

As I was setting foot on the rue de Rivoli, I knew I was gonna be sorry for hurrying to buy a bag for my camera on a Saturday afternoon. I hate humanity—or, more exactly, I hate human individuals, but as a whole. Those who take their time, those who change lanes on the sidewalk, those who think they’re in a hurry but actually slow down those who really are (and I always am), those who shout on the phone in the subway, those who rush to another counter even though you’ve been waiting for longer than them, those, those, those. All of those, and the others too, I hate. And I couldn’t find vanilla incense in the shop where I bought some a couple of years ago. And the bag I bought is huge, ridiculous and terribly conspicuous, but at least it’s all padded. And, more importantly, it exists, it’s there, it’s mine, and my camera’s inside. Add to this the fact that a fr.rec.photo.numerique regular told me the noise my G3 makes is perfectly normal, and all of that means I can finally, at last, now, really and definitely start making pictures. I’m beginning as soon as tomorrow—well, maybe, if I find someone I can shoot, because Sundays aren’t quite ideal for taking landscape pictures in Paris).