The heavy scent of diesel and cheap hairspray hangs over the sidewalk as Sinéad O’Connor’s voice wails from a passing sedan’s speakers. I adjust the focus on my Leica, catching a kid in ripped jeans and scuffed Doc Martens leaning against a newsstand that’s screaming about the Hubble Telescope finally reaching the stars.
Some guy in a flannel shirt is geeking out over a magazine spread about HTML and Photoshop 1.0, calling his old darkroom prints "lame" compared to the digital future. I just ignore the chatter, clicking the shutter as the city’s grit blurs into a perfect, unkempt frame of 1990.
Memories from that day
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