Reflection in the glass.
A moody image. Lost in the mists of The French Quarter. One early morning.
I saw the mannequin. Eyes peering out at me. If I didn’t know where I was. On Royal Street. I might have thought the face was real.
I stepped back. Wanting to add a little mystery to the picture. I snapped once. Twice. Three times.
I was finished. With this little scene.
I kept walking.