A streetcar on St. Charles near dawn on a foggy morning.

Streetcar on St. Charles

I almost missed this shot. It was close to seven a.m., and a young man from West London (I later learned) came out of his apartment with the cutest
puppy on the planet–a miniature dachshund, and he proceeded to bring said cuteness up to me and strike up a conversation. The cuteness, it overwhelmed. He turned out to be quite talkative, telling me all about his life, his girlfriend, where they’d lived, what he did, and I was amused; I cannot tell you how many times perfect strangers have volunteered really salient details to me, just because I don’t look like someone who would kill people for a living. (Well, fictionally, of course, but still. I could be dangerous, in that ax-weilding psycho sort of way. You know, if I didn’t have to actually lift the ax or see blood or… okay, never mind.)

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