Part of me wants to be one of those photogravures you find at antique shops of people who no one remembers but seem to be so nice from so long ago.
Part of me wants to see those photogravures walking down the street and stopping them to say “Don’t I know you?”
Part of me wants to be the man who invented the photogravure on the day he sat down to eat a bowl of ice cream and thought to himself. “It’s awfully hot today, too hot to photogravure.”
And to be all the people who passed by and escaped that day, like sweet little ghosts.