In a park where the lights are as stingy as a miser, under a sky that forgot what colors are, sits a wooden man on an old bench. This isn't just any bench—it's the storytelling kind, the kind that's seen more drama than a soap opera. Our wooden friend, a masterpiece of hinges and thoughtful carving, waits for a taxi with the zen of a monk. He's got his legs crossed, hands chilling on his lap, looking like he's solving the mysteries of the universe—or maybe just really into people-watching. The field around him is playing dress-up with dandelions, putting on a show of whimsy against the no-nonsense backdrop of Mr. Wooden and his bench. Everything else is a blur, like someone smudged the world with their thumb, but not our guy. He's the still point in a spinning world, probably thinking, "What's the rush?" Bob Orsillo snapped this picture, and it's like he bottled up a moment of pure, unadulterated pondering. It's a bit of a mind trip, a dash of daydream, all served up in a classy noir filter.
Waiting For The Taxi
November 23, 2024
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