Expired film purchased from a deli, Polaroid film camera copped at a 99 cent store.
I’m not a photographer, when I go out my goals are very different than yours. I go where ever my cell phone tells me to. Everyone I know is everywhere and nowhere at once. I start the night alone always but never end it alone. I probably shouldn’t be taking the photos I take but I do. The people I photograph probably don’t want their photo attached to my name.
My name… what is my name?
Did I just slide along the walls into the hotel lobby entrance of the Tribeca Grand hotel or The SoHo Grand? Brushing my hands over her ass and her ass and her waist and his back over down the stairs to the shot I’ll get with this drink ticket? Stop. I’m so fucking dizzy. Now I’m a pin ball bouncing from one friend to one acquaintance to one stranger to someone who needs change for a twenty. The money in my wallet looks like lettuce, my eyes look like I have a fever.
I can’t even finish my drink. I try to, I practice my shot face over and over again. I look more and more like a fish with steam shooting out the gills. There’s nothing sexy about me I can fucking kill someone.
When I take a picture of you I’m looking at the contour’s of your face. The way the light hits. This isn’t because I’m looking for the next money shot. This isn’t gonna help American Apparel get more hits on their website. Have you seen this camera? It’s a die cast metal brick with a over exposed flash. This is me drunk, and in lust, wanting to touch you. Wanting you to talk to me. Wanting you not to talk to me. Just look at me. Then talk, in close whispers because the music is too loud.
I am ready I am am ready for the floor.
Jessica 6 is on… do you want to dance? Let’s jump up and down to the beat. Lets mosh and bump into each others fancy outfits. You’ll lose your cell phone I’ll lose my sun glasses.
It’ll be the best time of our lives.
And then I’ll hop into a cab and leave.
Maybe you can come. Maybe you can sit down with me and my random assortment of associates and accessories. Pick a loft or a condo or a tenement in the Lower East Side or Brooklyn New York we can go there and maybe we’ll have fun. There will be beer, very cheep and very available and cigarettes shared like greetings. If we are lucky the place will have a cool iPod with cool music while you play it cooooool sinking into the couch, or the futon, or that dirty.. dark.. corner.. Maybe you’ll be scared. Maybe you’ll dig your fingers into the the cuff of my denim shirt. Your earrings against my shoulders. Your eyes closing slowly while I listen to a story I have no interest in.
Maybe it’s now time we go home, but not after I take your picture first. Maybe.
(I’m not a big fan of Drake but the first few lines of this song captures the mood perfectly…)