I saw this man on the Tube. If Colin were with me, he wouldn't have wanted me to take this photo. But he wasn't with me.
I love this face. I am not laughing or teasing. I love this man's face, his enormous glasses and drooping jowls. I think, "You know, this guy probably, maybe, doesn't like what he sees in the mirror much." Or he just sighs and doesn't think about it. But I do. I thought about the entire train journey.
What made his face fall like this? What does he do? He is dressed like a regular Brit, but is he far from his home? What does this face look like, smiling?
I wanted to be in the shop with him when he bought those frames, when he tried them on, looked in the mirror, squinting through the faux lenses, then nodding.
I want to know what he likes to read, and whether he drinks tea or coffee, or both.
One of the great joys of my life is imagining people. My life soars inside the imagined lives of people I see and don't meet.
Inside every face is a world worth knowing, worth loving.