Memorial Day afternoon. Overcast sky. More litter on the City Hall lawn.
As I compose and take another shot, a pickup truck pulls into the parking lot next to me. My writog sense tingles. Someone is going to ask me what I’m doing.
Actually I’m mistaken. No hassle. It’s the mayor, smiling. “Make sure to get all those pictures, Mr. Bush.”
“I’m working on it,” I reply.
Then the mayor backs up his truck and drives away. Apparently he took a side trip when he saw me, making sure to show his appreciation for my visual documentation of crap-dotted Plattsburgh.
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