You generally think you know what’s going on, and can pick up the gist by a quick glance, hung out ear, or feeling in your waters. That you are a good judge of character, scene or situation, is obvious, well, at least to you it is. But truthfully we only see a small slither, a window or pane into what or whoever we are observing. Which has nothing to do with hubris, but from the fact that everyone keeps something back, or plays some kind of character, or role depending on who they are with or where they are or what they want. Sometimes this act takes the form of a game. Then there are the smarmy arses who are constantly in this game, one of their own making. Played for the pure pleasure of messing with people’s heads by these worst of types. The ones who you hope one day will be called to account. But even when they are, you get no pleasure from their suffering, because, for them, this is just another weapon, a mutual destruction if you like, stuck right back into that soft spot in your goodness.
Taken in Shoreditch, London, April 23. Nikon d750
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