I stopped along the back roads I was taking home in a little ghost of a town named Prescott.
I let Biggie stretch her legs while I had a cigar and enjoyed the quiet of the neglected baseball Diamond on the edge of town.
As we sat there, I watched a young father giving his toddler a ride on his motorcycle. Around the block he went...then again...then again.
I knew his route, so on my way out I took the opposite direction, the gravel road that went along the backside of his place.
I waved him to stop as I approached.
“I’ve been watching you two go ride the whole time I was over relaxing with a cigar. Can I get your picture?” I asked.
His name is Wayne and his two-year-old son is Grayson. Nice guy.
I snapped a few with my iPhone in the low light as we chatted about his son, his cars, and such.”
I tried talking to Grayson to get him to smile. “He won’t talk to you,” Wayne replies. I didn’t pry.
As I was saying my goodbyes, his older son ran out of the house and hopped on behind, holding on to the back of his dad’s overalls for safety.
I'm just a guy who finds the world an interesting place and likes to capture certain moments with a camera. They aren't for sale, or anything. I just like them. Well, usually. I've taken a lot of photos I don't like, as well.
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As I walked along the sea in Reykjavik, Iceland on this perfect afternoon, taking shots of the rocks various people had stacked on the shore and enjoying a cigar, an older lady stopped her bike behind me and started talking to me in what I assume was Icelandic.“I’m sorry, I don’t understand,”
I was up the block a ways when I saw her, singing an old country tune. I dropped a dollar in her basket and asked if I could take her picture.
I pulled into Tombstone on a warm and sunny late Tuesday morning and was immediately underwhelmed. I’m not saying don’t go there, I’m just saying I’m not a big fan of things that smell too “touristy.”
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