Beautiful world

Before finishing off Wells Tower's article on the Burning Man excursion he had with his father, I was in bed with my wife and son, lulling ourselves to sleep with Coldplay's Don't Panic, telling my wife I don't really understand most of the lyrics (she said: it's British, and the chorus goes We Live in a Beautiful World, Yeah we do, Yeah we do, to which I quipped: oh, thought it was ... Everytime, everytime) but felt that it's a beautiful song to play in a summer night, tucked in bed with your wife and son, just that peace and comfort of home and life and the certainty of twelve midnight.

Sand in my ears

Was scratching my ear in the office when sand fell. 

Test shots

In chronological order: my test shots (some before-and-after edits, some filtered by Nokia's Creative Suite) of the new Lumia 630. At first I found the Nokia Pro Camera as something cumbersome. It took me weeks to figure out the controls, and it's sort of a refresher course on the technical side of taking photos (ISO, Exposure, etc).

Though it doesn't perform that well in low-light, it can rival any point-and-shoot out there--just give yourself some time to tinker with Nokia's native photo apps.

 And then more photos.

The pedestrian

As soon as I've stepped off the bus from work I saw this woman, about sixty years old, standing by the pedestrian lane, sobbing and wiping away her tears after noticing me heading towards her. It's a bit late, an hour past midnight, she kept on rubbing her eyes as she crossed the street when a blue sedan hit her head-on. The body sounded like a heavy tap on a book, just a thud, then her bag found its way across the street, against the stark reflection of the white fluorescents of Mercury Drug. There was no commotion, only hushed conversations from three, four passersby, some locals. A man with a beltbag from a nearby barbecue stand walked slowly towards her, but her skull had been cracked by the impact, and when the corpse was lifted blood dripped, and some sloppy white stuff leaked from it. The pedestrian lane was smeared with red when I crossed the street, and the police asked me if I've seen anything, if they can ask some questions. I only had some will to say I needed sleep (or I was tired) but I gave in and puked by the patrol car's tires, my face throbbing, heavy from the blood in my head, my vomit dry.