The heavy humidity of August sticks to my flannel shirt as I focus my lens on a kid in ripped jeans, his Doc Martens clicking rhythmically against the hot pavement. Mariah Carey’s "Vision of Love" blares from a passing sedan, nearly drowning out the grumbling old man at the newsstand who is shaking his head at a headline about neglect found in residences for the disabled.
He mumbles something about how the world is rotting while everyone is obsessed with the new information superhighway, but I’m too busy scouting for the perfect shot of a girl in a velvet choker. It’s a strange, loud Monday where the grit of the street feels just as surreal as a scene from *Flatliners*.
Memories from that day
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