Everything Gets Photographed Now

My previous camera was seven years old and barely clearing two megapixels—a small gray rectangle I’d carried everywhere until it quietly refused to carry on. It deserved a more dignified farewell than I gave it.

On Friday I replaced it with a new Casio with enough resolution to theoretically document surface detail on Jupiter. The purchase was briefly eventful: standing in the checkout queue at Saturn, about to pay, every register in the store died simultaneously. For thirty minutes nothing worked. A voice came over the intercom—distinctly, unmistakably East German in its cadence—attempting to soothe the customers and offering complimentary coffee on the first floor. I stood there holding my camera and decided it was either an omen or just the normal friction of getting something you actually want. I bought it anyway.

I’ve decided to take it everywhere. Reworked my photo section, lifted the thumbnail layout wholesale from Last Night’s Party without apology, and now anyone inclined to follow my movements will at least have sharper images to work with. Progress.