Shutter
He held the old black Nikon to his eye and took pictures. Every day for years he walked the urban streets and and with a short lens framed an alley man and engaged the shutter. The slap of the mirror startled some. Some grew angry. One threw a bottle at him, just missing his camera and crashing against a pissed up brick wall . But over time the Alley Men got to know him and accepted the pantomime of his photography. For all the years he took pictures, for all the years he engaged the shutter, and listened to the slap of the mirror and felt the weight of the camera hanging across his neck and shoulders he never loaded the old black Nikon with film. He never pulled TRI-X out of a yellow cartridge, nor spooled it, nor closed the film door, nor turned the rewind lever. Some Alley Men believed he processed the photos inside his head. His brain like a dark room where each image of misery was printed. Other Alley Men thought that was crazy talk. The old Nikon was empty. Nothing there. Just a short lens and the dark negative spaces of time and madness.