A day of men and ball sports, of Arctic women and birthday gals. Of strikes had but not seen, goals scored off the end of kinetic mallets. Chinese beer, local IPAs with names unremembered.
This pizza sanctuary slash bowl haven (literally, spelled out on the wall), quite the photogenic place. Are all bowling alleys like this? You’ve got these great lanes, receding into the faraway, with humans emoting the entire range of the pleasure spectrum. After nearly every roll.
Whatever the case, upon this fair blue table the camera rested. And anybody could handle it, shoot with it, record the night through their own vision. Strange going through a mix of my own amidst a majority of others’.