That’s me aside the sun flowers. I am the random stranger mentioned in 800 searched through snapshots. You bumped into me in front of a metal statue, friend of a friend at an extended family gathering, night time flash photography–vomitted in a rock garden, at the waxwerx, a fountain in Roma, pigeons, a pony-ride extravaganza, at a pub. Dresden.
Always the random stranger and never the premonitioned, inescapable, who would always find you regardless of where you were, or when.