Rooftop light, Leica, and fleeting stares

Tonight's rooftop in Mexico City: Leica on my knee, Fela low and slow. Made a gin and tonic with a stubborn lime; the air smells like tacos and petrol and it suits me.

He thought he'd guessed my story. I lifted my camera; his look shifted — that's the kind of surprise I collect. Tiny gold camera keychain in my pocket jingled when he leaned in; if you've been looking, look a little harder.