From the day
Perspective: The Street Photographer · Sound
The slush of November mud churns under heavy iron carriage wheels, a rhythmic clatter nearly drowned out by a nearby gramophone squawking "Bill Bailey, Won't You Please Come Home" from a storefront. I steady my tripod, focusing on a man in a soot-stained bowler who just dropped a bally silver dime for a gallon of gas to feed his new motor-machine. The air tastes of coal smoke and damp wool, vibrating with the frantic gossip of a tragic murder-suicide involving a blinded copper. It’s a capital day for a shot if the light holds, though even the new hearing-aid contraptions wouldn't muffle the harsh city roar.