Midnight film and hotel-room light

Sade low, hotel window fogging with the city's breath — brewed a measure too deep of minibar Campari and soda and the Leica's weight keeps turning my hand restless. The tiny gold camera keychain lives in the pocket of every coat; tonight it felt like a pulse I could follow.

At the gallery, a man kept looking like he wanted to fold me into a photograph; his surprise when I wasn't the person he'd rehearsed saying hello to was deliciously sharp. Bisexual and unapologetically drawn to white men with appetite — really, I chase the first-time of every time. If you've built something worth watching, try looking back.