22

My friend Sandy and I go out from breakfast once in a while. Our friendship started with motorcycles but has expanded into photography and other things. It's always a good time, and time that passes by too quickly. On this cold December day we sat by the windows of the Phoenix Cafe, basking in the early morning sun.



Sandy is having a torrid affair with his Fuji X-Pro1. By torrid, I mean that things are never just "fine" but rather he's either ecstatic about the thing (oh the IQ is as good as my D3!...ah the handling is sublime...it's just the right size...etc...) or one missed shot from whacking it with a Louisville Slugger (the AF!...the AF!...the AF!...etc...). This morning he's lamenting his early adopter status and how he's missing photo ops of his grandkids. We finish our eggs and linger with coffee refills. He takes the Fuji out of the bag and all it takes is a couple minutes of caressing this object d'photo, listening to the quick AF confirm beep in this well-lit care, and the storm passes. It's all roses again. Poor Sandy, we've all been there...