Once, maybe twice a year we walk over the Brooklyn Bridge.
Sometimes it's with friends, or maybe one or both of my parents. Usually it's just Paul and me.
Each time is the same, and each time is different.
The crowds are the same, and the dawdlers inevitably ignore the stripe that separates the walkers from the bikers. Angry cyclists ring their bells to caution people out of the way. I've never seen a collision, and I'm rather surprised.
The chance that I'll get out my camera is always the same: 100 percent. Paul patiently waits as I take photos I've snapped a dozen times before. But to me, they all look different: the color of the sky, the precise lights glowing from the skyscrapers, the angles I can get when other amateur photographers get out of the way.
So the views are different, but I love them just the same.
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