|Photo: © S. Banos|
Recently, I wrote about hot streaks and riding the wave of "luck," something which doesn't much come my way. Hot streaks are such incredibly rarefied creatures, it's hard enough conjuring enough luck for one good shot.
On an ordinary day, on an ordinary late afternoon, there wouldn't have been an extraordinarily handsome couple locking lips all Hollywood like as I was going from point A to point B on a daily errand. And even if there was, that alone wouldn't have made for more than a sappy romantic postcard, unless: the begging guy had also been there to add his layer to the story, and he would've been too far removed, unless the guy walking outta the subway (gotta love that face) hadn't walked between him and the couple to help tie the two ends together, and if the sun hadn't kissed the lovers' faces just so for the spot fill... and had I come just a few minutes sooner, or a few seconds later...
But on this particular day I was still riding the streak; otherwise, the only thing there would've been exactly what I saw there some weeks later- a skinny, dead tree in a pot.