The Albatross.
Wandering at night in Varanasi, the city is silenced by the occasional electricity cuts, all human traffic terminated, only some cows are roaming from one trash pile to another and dog packs are abruptly running and barking along the ghats.
The cycle rickshaw driver is still down here, the street is his workplace and his rickshaw his bed.
When you’re out there, you’re out of touch.
He was setting up to rest, we exchanged looks.
We had nothing to say, but it wasn’t because we didn’t know enough, we just knew too much.
I had a thought for the Flowers of Evil.
Varanasi, Uttar Pradesh, India, 2014.
Wandering at night in Varanasi, the city is silenced by the occasional electricity cuts, all human traffic terminated, only some cows are roaming from one trash pile to another and dog packs are abruptly running and barking along the ghats.
The cycle rickshaw driver is still down here, the street is his workplace and his rickshaw his bed.
When you’re out there, you’re out of touch.
He was setting up to rest, we exchanged looks.
We had nothing to say, but it wasn’t because we didn’t know enough, we just knew too much.
I had a thought for the Flowers of Evil.
Varanasi, Uttar Pradesh, India, 2014.
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