Lens Is More

Category: Still life

  • HST in NYC

    C. Thompson
    There’s a corncob pipe partially hidden on the right. It wasn’t for corn silk. (Update: That’s a cigarette filter tip. But there’s a pipe in there somewhere.)

    Hunter S. Thompson (1937-2005) was on a book tour in 1997 for the first volume of his published letters, and my friend and Reuters colleague secured an interview for the occasion. Knowing my affinity, he snuck me into the assignment. Those familiar with Thompson’s (no relation) work will recognize the welter of items often described in it: coffee, sure; but also Chivas Regal, newspapers, telephone(s), ashtrays, Sharpie pens, ice bucket, and implements of destruction. The cocaine went down in another room. I was introduced to his writing at age 20. I wrote my first news story a couple years later.

  • Farm cats, Chadds Ford, Pa.

    C. Thompson
    Then one of the toms sprayed. Unpleasant return.

    “I would close the tailgate,” the old farmer said. “The cats’ll get in.” (2019)

  • Reminder, Berlin

    C. Thompson
    Its breadth still fails to capture the enormity of the crime.

    Berlin is a gritty place, both beautiful and ugly. Some of the older buildings are still pocked with bullet holes that reveal the angle and placement of their shooters. Hitler’s bunker is now a nondescript gravel parking area/dog run. The outline of the Berlin Wall is a bike path in spots. The Jews who were exterminated are remembered with little brass plaques outside those houses where they used to live and by this monstrous memorial near the Brandenburg Gate. Despite my usual reluctance toward nationalism, on this day I was glad I was born in the U.S. (2010)