I still remember, when I was around 6 years old, my father taking us to our monthly visit
to his brother and my aunt in the outskirts.
It was almost a ritual: we would have an earlier lunch at home,
take the bus, arrive at my uncle’s place by 2 PM,
have some socialization there, followed by coffee with fresh biscuits,
bread and jelly at 4 PM and finally, at 5 PM, we would take the bus back to home,
arriving just on time for my father to listen to the Sunday’s sports news on the radio.

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Hand-Colored

Don’t pack up your camera until you’ve left the location.

Joe McNally

A few days ago, I ran into a situation that made me feel reluctant to tell anybody. Afterthoughts reminded me that hardly somebody would believe me anyway, so what would be the problem telling the story?

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Cars, Caged!
Cars, Caged!
FOGGY DAY

What do you do when the day presents itself to you so white that you like through the window and the only thing that you see is a white blanket?

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A camera does not take a picture; it is you – and only you – that do it when you press the shutter.

Anonymous