Rooftop dusk with Fela on repeat

Rooftop in Mexico City, Fela turned up and a lime-salt hush on my glass. Leica swings from my shoulder, tiny gold camera keychain catching the last light — for a beat the city felt like a film I hadn't yet shot.

A man at the gallery tonight froze when he realised the photographer wasn't the person he'd sketched in his head. He looked at me like he'd been taught to read stories; I let him learn the angle slowly. Leaving him curious felt delicious.