It’s sometime in 2014.

I think it’s March or April.

I’m standing in my living room.

My eyes come to rest on an old Canon.

It’s Karli’s old college camera.

So it’s about ten years old.

It shoots onto film.

It’s all manual.

To put that into context, up until January this year, I’d never shot manually.

I pointed my phone.

I clicked.

I went.

That was the extent of my very limited powers.

I picked up the camera.

I fixed it up.

I went on a journey.

I took one shot a day.

No idea how.

No idea why.

The results… Were kind of beautiful.

I quite like looking at the photographs over a year later, just how amateur they are.

On a chilly afternoon, I took a walk down Johnson’s Court.

One of Dublin’s gems.

As I walked it’s windy path, my eyes settled on this store.

The Butcher Barber.

I watched the guys do their thing for a few minutes.

I watch them laugh.

I watched them chat.

I watched them snip wayward hairs.

There was something about that moment.

I had to steal it.

That’s the first memory.

There are 35 more.

I am Timi