It was hot. 102F Hot. Filing past the fanny packs and their owners, I was in no mood to see anything. My happy place was at a pub in the shade.
I’m not an emotional or spiritual person. But when I turned the corner to finally see “The David” in his gallery I unconsciously said out loud, “Oh shit.” (It turned out to be a very spiritual moment.)
How does one take a picture of something that has been reproduced in society in every pose and position? Well, one doesn’t. With a sea of tourists and their phones turned up, it became a case of “if you can’t beat ’em, join ’em.”
Later that night, catching up with some mates:
“How was your day?”
“If I see one more virgin or set of balls I’m going to go postal.”