Little Bits of Me

 

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A 35mm lens

There was a delightful murmur in the room, a sound of restrained jubliance st the arrival of the digital press.  it was as bosses exited the building that thr murmurs began to purr louder and the booze started to flow.There was gloom for some, but others sang out their praises by smoothing their fingers along the streamlined auto focus, film free, idiot-proof cameras.  

The system crashed.  Jobs past into a distance memory and the camera mountain of discarded faulty goods reached its summit.  The digital camera died an unexpected death.  And computer technology swiftly followed.

Scrabbling  in the dust-ridden attic for lost treasures returned in a vengeance, except for hoarder-sensitive beings who had lived minimalist lifestyles since the 1990s.  Eclectic collections stored in original packaging once again saw the light of day, out on my lawn, under a tarpaulin and away from curious stares from juveniles who had never heard of an LP or Compact Disc Player.  I scooped up a myriad of goodies long forgotten and tentatively pressed the shutter button on my 35mm and it clicked me back to reality.  What use was a 35mm camera without a 24-36 exposure film, or someone's darkroom to process the images?   Would the cartridge films I'd stored once in the fridge have survived the test of time?  I had to find out.

 

 

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Zoom In

Darrid leaned back in his four thousand pound chair and stretched.  Rubbing the back of his neck, he peered up at the dark swirls on the ceiling rippling with the candle light.  How he missed electricity.  It wasn't as if he had no money.  Business had been great - until they cut the power last week.  'They' being his previous bosses who decided to shift overseas after an influx of migrants arriving and bombarding him with phone calls and application requests.  

With the fading daylight and realiability on the candle meaning work was becoming impossible, Darrid stood and pulled on his Rocketdog boots.  He scooped up a handful of photographs he'd previously filed and then unfiled.  It was that woman again.  The same woman in all the pictures, which had been taken by different people, in different countries, in different eras and who were totally unconnected.  She was never alone; she was never the subject of the photographer.  She just happened to be there.  

The Fuerbar was within easy walking distance of the office.  Darrid headed into the gloomy, wet night and wished he'd grabbed his mac.  He ran, leaping over a few puddles and managed to get to the bar none worse for wear, and shook the raindrops from his spiked blond hair before shoving the door open.  He immediately shielded his eyes as blinding light greeted him.  Someone had replaced the candles for floodlights.  He frowned.  How could this be?  No electricity in the entire neighbourhood for a week. Was he missing some important clue?  Were his bosses back?

'Gav!' Darrid nodded in the direction of the landlord and the bar tender tapped his tattooed eyebrow in acknowledgement.

'Darrid!  Where have you been?'

Darrid approached the bar and licked his lips as Gav filled a glass, 'Working.  Can I use your conference room - is it empty?'

Gav nudged his chin in the direction of the back room, 'that one is full.  Wedding party.  You can use my office upstairs until they've finished their speeches?'

Darrid glanced at his wrist and pressed his forefinger against the face of his watch, 'I only need an hour.  Your office will do just fine.'  He picked up his glass and strode silently up to the staircase and turned briefly to survey the room. He'd forgotten to ask about the lighting. Never mind.  He'd do that later.  He tried the switch on the wall behind the door, before climbing the stairs and the light flooded across the narrow passageway at the top of the landing area.  He smiled at the familiarity of everything and fleetingly wished Jodie was still with him.

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