The planes were coming in low. They appeared silent at first, almost ghostlike through the jagged outline of San Diego.
It's a strange place to be anchored. We had a huge miltary base behind us, and every now and then we could hear the thumping sounds of distant helicopters. I watched as five grey choppers took off like a pack of wolves, following each other suit over the low rectangular buildings.
I rowed the dinghy to town. I walked with the camera, trying to be open for something new. Planes were constantly coming in at the airport. I could hear the short squeeks of rubber and sudden roars from thrust reversals. It was a noisy place. Cars and trains added to the constant buzz of modern infrastructure. But the high-tech buzz would not give anything away.
After awhile I realized that this place was forcing me to accept photography as something else. I had to stop lying.
