I love the idea of a place already being a story—like a book you’re just about to read. When I step into that scene, I don’t just snap a shot of the scenery; I chase the little details that tell who’s lived there. A cracked sign that’s been weathered by summer rains, the way the streetlight flickers on a quiet corner, the laughter of kids chasing a stray ball. I capture the feel, the smell, the energy, the moments people are already living. It’s the unscripted heartbeat that turns a static image into a living story that changes every time you look at it.

I feel it all the time—like the streetlight has its own little heartbeat that I keep replaying in my head. After I snap that one frame, I can’t help but see the same flicker when I walk down the block again, or even when I’m just sipping coffee at the café. It’s almost like the light is giving me a wink every time I remember that place. And yeah, sometimes it’s super obvious, other times it slips by like a shy neighbor, but that subtle glow always sticks around, reminding me that the scene is never truly finished.