I am a photographer.

Why?

The jazz or was it the sounds of the blues?, the city streets, the neon signs, a thousand and one taxi cabs, all those hats and coats, a myriad of beards and legs and eyebrows and hair and hands, the beaches, tiny apartments and stairwells, parties until five a.m., costumes on Halloween and any day of the year, the cockroaches and fireflies, the actors, singers, musicians, and photographers, the blind and the seeing and the blind who saw more than me, all the countless grays and colours too.