In the morning, I only want the look of things, and your love.

I want the empty, I want the city to myself. In the morning, I am the selfish hermit with a camera. I want the busy city and I want the city and I want the people and I want it to myself.

I want the picture which asks, Who was in the picture a second ago?

I want the the patterns of wear, the rusted belt.

I want the peeling shutters.

Don't make it too new, again.

Don't make the old wise old barrio a new unrecognizable tart.

Let orange go brown, let blue go grey, but okay maybe just a bit of sprucing, but let it be. Let every photograph empty of hustle show that the hustle is still there, that the calamari are climbing the ledges, that the clams are confabbing with the pigeons down around the barking antennae of the sea.


(Photo by Susan, Barcelona)