I pulled this one from the box the other day—a postcard that’s more than just a snapshot. It’s a whole afternoon, frozen in place. I’ve looked at it a dozen times now, and I keep finding new things. The light on the red brick, the ivy climbing the walls, the quiet blur
of someone mid-stride. It’s not a staged photo. It feels lived in, like if I stood still long enough, I might hear the hum of a saxophone or catch the smell of espresso drifting out from a corner café...
