“.. your hat is tilted.”
that was the first thing click had said when he had seen you, and that was all that left his mouth, at first. taken aback, you flipped around to face the disembodied voice and almost fired back a quip — almost, until you realized there was not a hint of animosity in the way he looked at you; no, only a genuine desire to help.
he blinked at you, once, twice, eyes flitting from your hat to your face and back again. you took note of his hands, blurry and gray; the way they inched towards his camera for a split second before dropping back down, as if his fingers had a mind of their own and wished to capture even such a mundane moment as this. (this was something you’d come to know as time went on, and with it you would realize it was not as mundane as you thought.)
you dipped your head. your fingers flitted to the brim and adjusted it — once, twice, to the side and a bit forward, back a quarter of an inch. he nodded, then chased off the gesture like it was a critter with a quick “that’s good.”
you turned to face him. his hands finally came to rest on his camera, and he raised it to one eye and closed the other. he did not ask you to smile. you did regardless.
