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Alone by Laurie Creasy
 

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  • We're in the same donut shop, and she looks lonely.

    I feel sorry for her, poor old woman, out at night with no one to talk with, no one to care.

    I'm out alone, too, I realize, and looking just as lonely. Poor old woman, out late at night with no one to talk with, no one to care.

    Confession: I'm a loner. I like it that way. I need space and time to process what I see, to let it resonate emotionally.

    Besides, with my camera, I never feel lonely. I feel as though I reach deep into people's thoughts and moods, into what makes nature tick. A photograph is writing on steroids, right?

    Maybe that depends on the photographer.

    Guess that's pretty conceited, huh? Reaching into other people's thoughts, into nature's DNA. Who do I think I am, God?

    Does a photographer hide from life, or see it true?

    Still, she looks lonely. Another time, and I'd go over and start up a conversation.

    But not tonight ...
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