Where is he?
A woman paces back and forth in a shopping arcade in Venice, Italy. She is dressed in a black suit. Her hair is coiffed to perfection yet she pauses to check her reflection in the shop window. She adjusts her jacket, smoothes her skirt.
She looks at her watch, then scans the crowds for the face she has been waiting to see. Minutes pass. She resumes her pacing.
I think I can sense what she is feeling or thinking. “Where is he?” “What has happened to him?” “I told him San Marcos square at 2 o’clock, didn’t I?” and on and on until her beloved shows up and all of her anxiety melts away.
La Dolce Vita
Here he is! He’s on his way. You can see that, can’t you?
He is dressed in a freshly laundered shirt. The cuffs are rolled to expose his tanned and muscular forearms. His jeans fit him perfectly. His shoes are hand made. Oops. White sox, but then he is European.
He, too, is looking forward to the rendevous, but for him there is no hurry. He has checked his watch. He’s late, but time does not matter. He knows she will wait. He plays with his watch as the sun warms him. He wants to sleep. He closes his eyes, just for a few minutes.
These are old slides that I scanned. Maybe they have deteriorated due to age because I had a hard time getting them to look decent. I like these two shots because of the story I made up about them. It’s not true and yet it is true, capisce?