The Monte Carlo restaurant in
#Bucharest sits on a small, circular concrete peninsula. It is a popular spot for weddings: a prime location, a live orchestra, and veteran waiters who still know their craft. The food is mediocre—but that hardly matters when you live in a culture of form over substance. The place is currently being renovated. Out of service. N/A
After a certain age, weddings become complicated. I mean one’s own. They come without illusions, accompanied by a slight tightening of the heart at the prospect of the soliloquies that line old age.
I have no basis for this belief, but I am ready to bet a dollar that the cure for loneliness in old age is to break time into habits. As much as possible.
I also have no basis for the belief that the occupants of the pedalo in this close-up are on a date and have known each other only a short time. He looks relaxed. He holds the edge of the boat delicately, though he is ready to grip it tightly if necessary. His left hand is unnaturally stiff, suggesting availability and support—or perhaps it is just politeness? She is a little tense. Maybe she is afraid of the water, or maybe she is self-conscious of her gesture. She has reached for the hollow of his arm. Is it too intimate? Probably; the hollow of the arm is where a person’s true scent resides. Is it a faux pas? Perhaps. Maybe he worries that she will cover his personal scent, that she won’t let him be himself no more.
Usually, when I come across scenes like this, I don’t press the shutter button on my camera.