© Michael Sprouse 2011
I like this instagram snap I caught yesterday afternoon on the metro to Dupont Circle. I've titled it "Subway Spirit". Not, mind you, as in the pom-pom accompanied "I've got spirit, how 'bout you?", but as in the ethereal, vaporous, wafting sense. Think of the oddly quiet moments when you've walked into an empty elevator into an aura of warmth mingled with the lingering perfume from a mysterious previous rider. It fills your mind with oceans of ideas about the existence of a woman you will never know. The mystery fades like an old, yellowed photograph vanishing in a dusty, time-worn frame eternally placed in some sun-drenched corner of a forgotten shelf when you reach your floor...
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