I didn’t touch the car.
Didn’t need to. She spoke first.
Sunset leaning in low, whispering gold through the salt haze.
The Corvette sat patient, smug even—chrome polished like she remembered every mile, and didn’t regret a single one.
I raised the Leica.
Heavy in the hand, like truth.
24–90mm, wide enough to lie, tight enough to wound.
Framed the dash. Just the dash.
No couple. No context. No mercy.
Except the mirror.
That little round snitch, reflecting the sun like it knew the end of the story.
I didn’t zoom in.
Didn’t have to.
Some confessions don’t need faces.
Just good glass, and bad timing.
About the lens: Vario-Elmarit-SL 24–90mm f/2.8–4
Heavy in the hand, but sharp enough to rival primes.
Built for dusk, doubt, and details that don’t blink.
