Or, "This is the city: Fort Worth, Texas. I work here. I carry a badge."
Okay, okay, nope I don't carry no stinkin' badge, but I should always carry my trusty digital camera. Just this morning while packing stuff to take to work, I glanced at the little miracle machine sitting on my dresser. Gave some thought to wagging it to work for a photographic walkabout...nah, too hot.
So, this afternoon while driving home on my preferred route that avoids the freeway, I passed a little local city park with baseball diamonds and playground. In the small paved parking lot were the usual SUV's and mom-mobiles.
Over underneath one shade tree, three middle-aged black women were climbing out of a Suburban. Each was wearing identical black knit sleeveless dresses and a funky hayseed straw hat. Plates of food were balanced on the palms of their hands. Looking around, I didn't notice any evidence of a picnic, or reunion of sorts.
Now, why didn't I bring that danged camera, and why didn't I take the opportunity to ask for their photo and delve into what obviously must be a story?
Maybe they were backup gospel singers and were getting ready for a wedding at the little church in the old neighborhood of Como just a block west or so from the park. Perhaps they were sisters just finishing up a family portrait, or bit actors in local theatre somewhere.
The world will never know because I didn't listen to my inner journalist this morning. I'll never be an urban documentarist like Weegee unless I learn to carry the tools of the trade and grab such opportunities. However, I do draw the line at going to bed fully clothed with a police-band shortwave radio blasting from my bedside night table. And fortunately, science has negated any need for a portable dark room in the trunk of my car.
I shall endeavor to do better...