A man walks into the Post Office...

I bought a book of post card stamps the other day. It was one of those beautiful mornings and the post office being between where I live and the small industrial, or post industrial abyss of my little town, made me decided on an entire course of the day rather than a mere errand. I decided, simply that I would bring my camera with me, and find some objects to study by way of my medium format Holga 120N.

So, already, before this anecdote goes too far, you know two things about me: 1) my intention was to buy postage stamps and 2) I had a film camera around my neck.

I waited my turn in line. I did not think anything of it, after all, I've been to the P.O. Before and I've always had to wait in line. And when my turn came up, I prefaced what I had to say with may I and I concluded it with please? It went something like this. May I have a book of postcard stamps, please?

The woman opened a drawer fill with stamps, all sorts of them. I asked: Are there all sorts of postcard stamps like there are first class stamps?

She began to laugh. Admittedly, this happens to me often, and when it does, it makes me think I've missed my vocation. They're just postcard stamps, I think, she said.

Oh, okay then, I said. I got out my money. Real money too. Cash is king, but Cassius Clay is Muhammad Ali.

Postcard stamps, she said. Ten dollars, she said. You have a camera, she concluded.

Now, I'll give it to her, she was able to recognize my red and white plastic Holga 120N as a camera, because oftentimes people have no idea what it is. Younger people particularly. And let's face it, the camera is dead. The only people with a real camera are hobbyists or artists or that person no one knows at the wedding. Not many people carry on old fashioned film camera anymore, and few still have the plastic joy that I have which is any number of toy cameras.

Yeah, I said. I too the stamps when she took the money. Funny, isn't it?

Back out in the morning light, I took a walk over the Pratt Street bridge. I snapped a few photos and I admired the day.

I admired the day because it was what my intention had been. I wanted to walk around and look at the small things in my town to capture some imagination. I love looking at urban decay and industrial ruin. I have been in these sorts of places because it's generally quiet. The little creatures like the insects and birds, spiders, butterflies and prairie dogs have moved back in. I love these places because I am always alone in these places and I love to be alone.

The camera and any images I may collect are secondary. The real intention is to walk, take an urban safari and should I find myself trespassing and I get caught, I always blame the camera.

What I was unable to convey to the woman at the P.O. is that yes, I have a camera and that yes, it was , is, always will be, my intention to write and mail postcards to my friends telling them what I'm doing and when, if ever, I'll be coming back. What I could say, to the P.O. Woman is that I have a slow life, a life that sends and receives postcards and letters, a life of snapping pictures and taking the exposed film to the camera shop and waiting days or weeks to pick it up.

And the truly funny part about these things is that I didn't make the decision to do things this way. In this day of high def cameras on smartphones and social media, I just never stopped doing what I was doing long ago in the analog days. What I said to the P.O. worker I really meant: funny isn't it?