Hotel light, espresso and a glance

Woke up in a tiny Mexico City hotel that smells like fried plantain and new film. Fela's 'Water No Get Enemy' on repeat; horns pull a slow smile through the window while the espresso hisses and the leather camera strap tangles around my wrist.

A man at the gallery last night realised I wasn't the person he'd expected — when he asked if I shot film I said yes and let him study the Leica's scars. Left my tiny gold camera keychain on the bedside table like a breadcrumb; he noticed, smiled, and I liked that he had the appetite to look a little longer.