Dimly lit a silhouette lurks behind the plastic view port. Metal on metal the pins are pushed back into the sleeve, hinges creak and I reach into the small cramped sterile space. Now I have the prize in my slightly moist salty hand, I bring it to my nose and inhale deeply: smelling slightly of acid wash, my nose brushes against the rough surface scratching me.

Quickly, noticing several inquisitive looks directed in upon my figure I shut the hatch and exit the room. Down the corridor through a door, into a room buzzing with machinery and separated down the middle by a formidable waist high counter I confront the gatekeeper. “Identification card and package slip”, with due diligence I hand both the requested documents over. She scans them with not undue scrutiny, failing memory has washed the experience from her mind that we had played this comedy in reverse all of five days ago.

The package is pushed across the counter, the manila paper taped on its seems: the journey has been difficult; I can only hope that the packer did their job. Walking quickly I exit the building suppressing the urge to run, “careful Nate, no need to arouse suspicion”: my pace slackens to a casual saunter. Hearing the click of the lock behind me, alone in my room I check the plug that is as firmly ensconced in the electrical outlet as when I left. Everything is ready, all is as it should be.

Ripping tape and string from the package I’m confronted with those irritable Styrofoam packing peanuts that are so annoying to clean up, but oh so delicious to squeeze till they pop between your fingers: they fall to the floor in a rough semi-circle around me. Expectantly I remove the treasure and unwrap it, removing wound elastic from it. Free from its wrapping it gleams in the dim light: metal, plastic, glass shining with life but dead without me. Pulling the plug I remove the plastic-wrapped energy source and slide it into its true home.

Hearing the soft snick of electrical contact on contact I sigh with reassurance: my camera survived it’s warranty repair and awaits my hand upon its grip.

My camera is back and I wanted to waste as little time as possible: "Chris lets go, my camera is fixed.. grab your 30d lets rock!" (Chris is from Korea and loves to shoot with purpose). Chris asks me: "Nathan... what are we going to take photos of?" I have no answer ready for him, and I explain that sometimes the purpose of a thing is in the experience. The barrier of our language prevents me from explaining what James Joyce refers to as the 'whatness of a thing' or what I would wall an 'epiphany of ordinary circumstances'. I hope you enjoyed viewing these photos half as much as I enjoyed taking them.




N