Love in Florence
Heleen, the wonderful funambulist in Venice
I met Fanny while waiting for the train in a small French town. She was just sitting on the floor in the otherwise empty under-rail corridor where graffiti adorns all walls, smouldering cigarette in between two fingers, too early for her train. She was engaging; I only had a few minutes. Her phone rang, it was her mum. I waited a few. She spoke in wonderful melody the way the French do. I sensed a feeling of solitude.. may be, not melancholy.
The Selfie prep
La Belle Dame Sans Merci
The Basket Seller