From the day
Perspective: The Street Photographer · Sight
The July sun glares off the starched high collars of the mourners lining the tracks, their black wool suits absorbing the heat as the funeral train for Mr. Hay rolls toward Cleveland with a heavy, rhythmic iron sob. I adjust the focus on my bellows camera, capturing the silhouette of a newsboy clutching a nickel loaf, his face a mask of somber reverence that is nothing short of bully. A nearby phonograph blares a tinny rendition of *In My Merry Oldsmobile*, the jaunty tune clashing with the weeping women in their lace-trimmed mourning veils. It is a strange, shifting age; while some cling to the old virtues of the parlor, the scientists are whispering of absolute marvels like E=mc2 that feel as fast and foreign as the horseless carriages blurring past my lens.