Boston. 2005.July. Warm even with air conditioning. Languid air drifting through large buildings; green sprouting, straining outward; moisture in the lungs and on the skin. Sleeping with the window open, with no blankets on; a sheet, maybe. Dressing in clean, cool clothes.
I miss the varied certainties of Boston. The red brick, the modern architecture. The large, protected open spaces surrounded by sweating, crowded streets. Polluted, accessible water ways. Heat-white skies in summer.
I miss this moment, when a woman I barely knew lay still for me, while I photographed her hand, her calves. Her shoes.
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