Categorized | Musings

Mug Shots

If all goes to plan:
A transcript…

Andrew: Hey Claire, I’ve got some time this afternoon if you want me to take some craft-savvy-criminal inspired photos for the new album?
Claire: Sounds great
Andrew: Do you have anything in mind?
Claire: I could get my hands on some knitting gear, and we could head down to the the little Police station, tucked in behind the old town hall…
Andrew: I could get some photos of you crouched down, knitting behind some shrubs, peering suspiciously at a parked police car. You could come to the frustrating realisation that you have forgotten how to knit. It has, after all, been nearly 20 years since you half knitted a scarf with your grandma.
Claire: Then a vagabond could walk past. He could confess to being a convicted criminal, who still remembers how to knit after being taught by his “dear mother” decades ago. He could put down his beer bottle, take the knitting sticks from my hands, and repeatedly stab us with them begin to knit a scarf.
Andrew: As he knits, he could reminisce about the 25 years he spent behind bars.
Claire: We could also discuss his prison tattoos; their artistic credibility (or lack thereof), and their social significance in relation to their context.
Andrew: He could postulate that one ultimately regrets not the tattoos born from fear, stupidity, or aggressive desire, but the ones born from love. A grim reaper consuming a limb is bearable. Tiny etchings of the names of loved ones on the underside of the arm, well… every glance is torture.
Claire: As the afternoon light fades, we could bid farewell to our craft savvy criminal friend
Andrew: He could give a menacing look, warn us against using his photograph in public (with the added threat to “sue us for every f&*king penny we have”), and then thank us for what was otherwise a lovely afternoon.
Claire: Then we could thank our lucky stars that both of us are broke, and quietly hope that he doesn’t have the internet.
Andrew: We could wander up the hill, considering our next move. We would still need photos that we could use without the fear of inciting death threats.
Claire: Then we could smell smoke
Andrew: As we wander towards the source, we could be over taken by 5 fire trucks and seven police cars, sirens screaming and brakes screeching.
Claire: They could rope off the streets, and tend to the fire (a restaurant kitchen), which of course would cause no injuries or sentimental damage.
Andrew: They could leave the emergency vehicles unaccompanied, lights flashing the whole time.
Claire: As night falls, we could take brazenly opportunistic photographs, hanging off fire-trucks and knitting on the bonnets of cop cars. When the novelty wears off, we could call it a night, and go and drink cider with friends.

Of course you could never plan something like that…