climbed 36 flights of stairs to the roof. try the door, and its locked. the two photographers i’m with put their heads down and start the descent to the streets of LA. on my keychain i had three keys, which i looked down at in lost hope. never has a random key opened a random door for me ever. i tried the biggest key of the set, and with a small twist and a little push, we were through. one of the best views of LA. great night
For just one second (of your time), which in the grand scheme of things is in fact still just one second, I found that my traditional temporal interpretation-my experiential relationship with time, if you will to have been adjusted. I don’t know who made this correction or why. This tweak may or may not have been obvious and it’s after shock may or may not have been felt by others, but in the epicenter of this anomaly, at the precise point at which I stood, the vectors of time were as simple to read as dick and Jane. I could see them through the convenient peephole in Franks building. The man’s foot lifted to take a step, time onion-skinning the next 30 milliseconds in a smear of suit and tie but my camera was out and already in my hand. It was focused and the dark slide pulled by the time the man’s foot landed from his first step, the trails of his pant leg pulling back to their point to origin and dissipating outwards again into the glare. By then I was framed and -click- the anaomoly broken and my time flowed back in sync, my river emptying into the ocean.