The Head Dress. (A Story)

Head dress. Waiting.
Head dress. Waiting.

A big one. A big huge second line.

It started at Sportsman’s Corner. In Central City. There were three or four bands. Three or four divisions. I made lots and lots of pictures. I think that I had a pretty good take. I worked inside. I worked outside. I worked on three or four different streets.

That last line wasn’t exactly by choice. Every time that I got in the car to leave I ended up driving right into the heart of the parade where it was crossing the street that I was on. I did the only thing I could do. Well, two things. I blocked traffic. And, I took pictures.

That’s also why I’m late. I made a lot of pictures. Some — me — would say I made too many pictures. Rather than process them all and finish a few at a time, I did what I’d rather do. I kept my work flow in a straight line. I took me a good part of the day to get to the point where I could publish anything. That was a half hour or so ago. But, the dog who sees stuff wanted to go for a walk so I was interrupted. Again.

The pictures. I decided to create little groups of pictures. I wouldn’t call them stories because there is no process or beginning, middle and end. They are just small — very small — portfolios. This one is about the king’s head-dress. In the club, which is really a bar. On the king’s head. And, from the king’s point of view as he faces the wall of people.

Where it belongs.
Where it belongs.
What awaits.
What awaits.


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