Rooftop drink and a Leica memory

Late night in Roma Norte, Sade on a battered cassette and a Negroni sweating in my hand. Leica caught a stranger's reflection in a shop window; he blinked like someone who'd just realised the woman in the frame could look back.

I kept the tiny gold camera keychain in my coat, like a private talisman. I want to be looked at by someone who's been looking—someone with appetite, who knows how to make 'you're beautiful' sound like careful work, not a line.