I was at Strand bookstore at the register and then turned my head around and saw a stranger walking into an old elevator. He looked straight at me and the door started closing. So slowly. And the inside of the elevator was red, and there was a dim light inside. And he was so photogenic – in his 70s, mustache, old denim jacket, small blue hat and sad blue eyes.
I didn’t have time to take his photograph. And the door closed.
And so many moments like this in my head – strangers disappearing in doors forever, strangers walking from around the corner when you don’t expect them.
And I don’t have enough time to capture them.
And these images are stuck in my head forever. Like a boomerang or a stuck film that goes over and over again.
All these untold stories.
All these untold words to people who walk away and will never be back.
And frustration that I just can’t rewind those moments. And maybe take those pictures. And maybe say those words that I wanted to say but was too scared.