Night one: everything smells of hot tar giving up. The light is orange and the rain is sideways.
Night three: I stop carrying the second lens. One camera, one lens, both hands for the umbrella when I need it.
Night five: the lamp at the end of the lane in Matunga has a halo you can almost hold. I stand under it for forty minutes and make three frames.
The best picture of the week came from the night I nearly stayed home.
Night seven: nothing. And that is fine.
