Kay, a 33yo Black Lesbian and Photographer

I flip through the polaroids spread out on my bed, trying to find some form of redeeming quality in one of them - they’re all either blurry, unfocussed, framed weird, or one of a billion other problems at least one of my other polaroids has. After a moment, I slam the group of photographs in my hand down, as frustration takes me over.

“You alright,” my girlfriend, Kiera, asks, getting behind me and wrapping her arms around my shoulders. I lean back into her, feeling her heartbeat against my back.

“Yeah. I think I need to stop doing polaroids, they’re all shit. I’m not even sure why I thought they would work in the first place - I sucked at ‘em in highschool, too.” I put my hand on her arm, nearly trying to pull her closer to me.

“Well, nostalgia’s a bitch.” We both laugh for a bit, before I feel her energy shift - more serious, more optimistic. “Hey, I took a call you got while you were out.”

“Who was it from?”

“Adam.-” my ‘talent scout’ of sorts “He said he’s got a new client for you.” Given my normal clients - those shitty magazines that show up on your lawn every month, wannabe influencers with less than 5,000 followers, soon to be married couples whose relationships aren’t gonna last the time it takes to get the pictures edited - I can’t really get myself to feel excited.

“Are they actually gonna pay me this time?” My sarcasm doesn’t seem to deflate Kiera’s optimism like it normally would.

“I mean, I hope so, it’s-”