The Things We Find When We’re Not Looking

My first stop was the library to find something to fill the hole left by James Ellroy’s My Dark Places, which I blew through in two days. Nothing jumped off the shelf, but it got me moving.

My first stop was the library to find something to fill the hole left by James Ellroy’s My Dark Places, which I blew through in two days. Nothing jumped off the shelf, but it got me moving.

Just outside, I spotted a vintage “Garage Bar” sign—my soft spot. It didn’t quite work photographically, but snapping that first frame is like stretching before a run. Not everything you shoot has to sing.

Wandering toward the Denver Art Museum, I looked up and saw a woman sitting alone behind a massive curtain of glass. The way the light fell, and how she seemed suspended in it all, made her look like a piece of art herself.

Next stop: Kilgore Used Books, a tiny shop I love, but I forgot it doesn’t open until noon on Tuesdays. With 90 minutes to kill, I decided to roam a bit.

That’s when I found one of my favorite images of the day—just steps from where I parked. An old newspaper dispenser. Covered in graffiti, faded stickers, and what looked like a makeshift ribbon tied around the handle. There’s something about objects like this that seem to hold memories, as if they’re just waiting to be acknowledged.

From there I wandered Colfax Ave, following instinct more than Google Maps. I spotted some classic neon signs—Pete’s Lounge, Satire Lounge. I didn’t quite do them justice, but I’ll go back, hopefully at night when they’re glowing and proud.

I also found a beat-up convenience store, a towering high-rise out of place in a two-story neighborhood, and a few little corners of the city that reminded me: Denver's soul still lives off the main roads.

By the time Kilgore opened, I was ready to sit still for a second. I picked up The Things They Carried (thanks to ChatGPT’s suggestion). And then I asked the guy working the counter if I could take his portrait. He said yes without hesitation. I placed him in the one patch of light pouring through the ceiling. A couple of frames, and that was it. My first portrait of the day.

Unfortunately, the day ended with a flat tire on my scooter—again. Last time it ran out of juice. I guess there’s always a little unpredictability when you travel this way.

But still, I came home with photos I liked. A portrait. A story. And a book I can’t wait to get into.

That’s enough.

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