The Perfect Shot

The shadowy figure moved slowly through the rain towards the car at the curb, steps falling silent on the wet pavement. Rain poured from the dark sky above, highlighting the glumness of the city streets, only illuminated by the street lights lining it.

The man at the car in a dark coat shouldered something, sliding it into the back seat of the car, handling the item ever so carefully. Gingerly, he laid the long, black case in the back seat before slamming the car door and locking the car.

He then straightened himself and looked around. The street was relatively empty at this time of night. Few wished to be caught in such a place after dark. As a result, very few places were open along the street except for a few shady establishments that the man would rather avoid this specific evening. After a long day of work, he wished to relax, actually relax.

And I know precisely where too, he thought to himself as he began making his way down the street. Be brushed past only two people, keeping a mental count out of habit before he realized he was doing it.

Relax, he commanded himself.

The man came to a pause, looking both ways before he used the crosswalk. The rain began to come down harder.

The man pulled his coat more tightly around him and shielded his eyes from the relentless downpour. Still, his eyes were trained ahead, focusing on the soft, warm glow of the cafe lights that came from just down the street.

A small building nestled between two taller ones, with a wide window that displayed the business’s seating area where they allowed patrons to sit and peacefully enjoy their surroundings. Thankfully, it was practically empty, much to the man’s relief, except for one other person, sitting quietly at a corner table. It was a young man, about 20 years of age, in a brown coat and a burgundy sweater. His hair was dark and he seemed to have a calm demeanor about him as he sipped his coffee and fidgeted with something in his lap.

The man on the street gathered himself as he realized he was still standing on the street, becoming more and more soaked by the minute. Not content to remain in the rain, he pushed through the cafe door and made his way over to the counter to order his coffee. Then he turned to the seating area. 

It was a small lobby, with only four tables with two chairs apiece. The tables were small and round in shape. The chairs were wooden and painted a dark brown that matched the light brown of the walls of the cafe. The room was decorated simply, only with a little greenery placed here and there to contrast the earthy tones.

The perfect place to relax.

The man shrugged off his coat as he sat at the center table, staring out the cafe window towards the street as he waited for his coffee to arrive.

He wasn’t thinking of anything specifically when a voice broke the silence. It was the young man he who he had seen sitting at the corner table. Except now he was standing opposite him.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” The man seated asked politely.

“I asked how you are doing this fine evening,” the younger one repeated.

“Oh, fine. And yourself?”

“Fine though I admit I could be doing better,” the young man in the brown coat sucked in a sharp breath before continuing. “I don’t want to seem odd or anything, but I noticed you making your way here.”

The older man scrunched his face in confusion, opting to remain silent to let him continue.

“And I noticed you putting your tripod in your car,” he went on. “You’re a photographer, like me, correct?” he gestured back to his table where a wide lens camera lay next to his coffee cup. 

So that’s what the lad was fiddling with when I entered, the older man thought to himself, then said aloud, “Yes, I am. And what of it?”

“Oh, I don’t want to seem rude,” the young man blustered on. “But I’ve had such a hard day. You see, I’m new to this photography stuff and I’ve found myself struggling to get “perfect shot”.”

“The perfect shot,” the seated man echoed. What an interesting choice of words.

“Yes, and I was wondering if you could offer me any advice on the matter,” the youth moved awkwardly, clearly beginning to feel uncomfortable in voicing his request. “Being a fellow artist in the field,” he added.

The slow, thoughtful smile crept upon the seated man’s lips.

“But of course,” he said after a beat of silence. “Please, take a seat. And I will tell you of what I know of obtaining this “perfect shot” you speak of.”

The young man seemed to relax a little, retrieving his coffee and camera from his table and taking a seat across from the older man.

“I’m Oscar, by the way,” the youth said.

“And I’m Dean,” said the other. 

They both paused as the barista delivered Dean his cup of coffee. He thanked her quietly before taking a sip and returning his attention to Oscar who was waiting politely for him to continue.

“The perfect shot you see,” Dean began. “Has to be taken from just the right angle.”

Oscar nodded in silent agreement as Dean went on.

“The lighting,” Dean went on. “Oh, it must be perfect. And you want to set up in such a way that you blend in and people don’t notice you.

“Oh, yes,” Oscar agreed. “Once I was trying to get one in a street full of people. It was incredibly difficult as people seemed to be taken aback or put off. Completely ruined the effect.”

“That is why the shot is best taken from a distance,” said Dean.

“I see,” said Oscar. “Do you ever find it difficult to line up the angle when you’re in public?”

“Not as much as I used to,” Dean said with a shrug. “One must take their time when pursuing the perfect shot. Do that, and you’ll hit the mark every time.”

“Every time,” Oscar echoed.

“I hope my advice helps you,” Dean stood after draining his mug. “But I must be getting on. I didn’t plan on staying here long.”

“Oh! Of course!” Oscar stood, offering his hand to Dean in a polite gesture. Dean shook it. “Thanks so very much for your advice!”

Dean offered Oscar a friendly smile as he pulled his still damp coat on. 

“Anytime. You have a good evening.”

~*~

Dean couldn’t help but chuckle to himself as he opened his car door and revved up his engine. He cast a glance at the back seat where his “tripod” lay. A “tripod” that very much looked like a gun case, but perhaps in the rain, in the dim street light, a naive photographer couldn’t tell the difference?

Dean smiled and shook his head.

“The perfect shot indeed.”