Flash Photography

He appears in a photograph of his life there are no faces, nor anyone who lived in a memory. Images develop. That long table was a smorgasbord where he left only bones and crumbs. There is a mirror on a transparent wall behind it old men listen to lounge music as they play cards. The gamblers have his personal details written on the same pocket notebooks they keep score on. Under the beer stained carpet is an underlay of his history he has seen the foot traffic come and go his prints are everywhere. He takes pictures, needing not to look at them they were after all, all the same just different venues, furnishings, landscapes. Cigarette butts stuck into sand buckets, line the walls of a diffuse composition the place reeks of long nights inside a nicotinic mind. He photographs the cholinergic receptors of his autonomic ganglia. The exit is that way, the door next to the empty fire extinguisher. When he goes out the fresh cold air burns all the negatives in a Box Brownie.