"Sometimes, when I look at you, I think I am trying to touch the sun, catch the sun and hold it with my bare hands." she said, and then she bit her bottom lip, in that way she though was coy. Really, it was just kind of sad.
He knew what she thought of him, and that was what got him off. That she equated him with a star, and that she would melt from the slightest look from him. He knew he could get her to do anything and she wouldn't bat an eye. Sex appeal that could disolve morals and ethics.
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"SOmetimes, when I look at you, I think I am trying to touch the sun, catch the sun and hold it with my bare hands." she said, and then she bit her bottom lip, in that way she though was coy. Really, it was just kind of sad.
He knew what she thought of him, and that was what got him off. That she equated him with a star, and that she would melt from the slightest look from him. He knew he could get her to do anything and she wouldn't bat an eye. Sex appeal that could disolve morals and ethics.
"Dusk"
When the smoke cleared and they had a chance to look around, she saw the problem immediately.
"Well, that's not right at all," she said.
He had his back to the rubble. "The hell it isn't."
"You used the 40 watt bulb. I told you 100."
He dug one toe in the sand. "Just trying to save--"
"Save what?" She blew back her bangs in exasperation and the clouds parted. "I told you it would end up like this if there weren't enough resources to go around. Now we've got to start all over again."
"What do you want me to do?"
"Fix it!" she said.
He wanted to make it right. Really he did. He wanted to impress her, to have her fawn over him. He reached up and plucked the sun from the sky, juggling it a little to keep from getting singed. Now he just had to figure out where he'd left the extra bulbs.
I wonder what it would be like to hold the sun in the palm of my hand.
So it began. Most observers would have dismissed this as some idle fantasy wrought of lazy imagination alone. Admittedly, it was a statement made coyly, off-handedly, not meaning to be taken seriously in the least. It was a non sequitur at best, I thought, and one smacking of television voice over slogans peddling sugary children's candy.
Indeed, However, James was a photographer and a particularly creative one at that. His sense of skeptical suspension of disbelief was far less pronounced. It goes without saying that the vast majority of those who claim the title are commercial artist, long used to taking banal snaps of the Ladies' Garden Club lined up against an unoffensive backdrop, side by side in firing squad fashion.
It took some degree of camera trickery, but after twenty minutes of trial and error the finished product was worth the effort.
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