Photograph

Hot July.

The air is buzzing and the dust is flying behind the blue pickup truck as it barrels up to the ridgeline. He parks on the edge of the road, the truck leaning sideways like it could roll down the hillside at any second. The man-who-will-be gets out, stretches back, opens his mouth wide and lets out a wild inhuman holler out into the forest land. The sound is sucked up by heat and solitude. Satisfied, he lifts the camera in its cracked leather case from the truck seat, unsnaps and lifts out the camera. Cradles it as he crunches across the gravel road. Dust pools in the dips of the rock, but he blows across the surface and swipes at the rough surface with his hand. Squats and positions the camera. He sets the timer, and runs, unthinking, to the spot already determined in his mind. Center-left.

He stands immobile and squints in the sunlight, rays shining off his long brown hair tied back in a ponytail, his mustache curling with his lips as he grins. You can see the sweat darkening his t-shirt, see the tiny specks of dust in the air, the trees stretching backwards eternally in layers of darker and darker green. Captured forever, you can almost feel the hot afternoon and the lonely adventure of his youth.

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About mayafishsticks

Since I turned 20, it's all gone downhill.
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