“You were wonderful Tiffany.”

“Thank-you…”

“You have a question for me?”

“Nothing gets past you does it?”

“Not much, no.”

“…”

“You’re wondering how I know you did wonderfully? How I know which pictures are good and which aren’t? How I am able to take pictures without being able to see in the first place?”

“Yes.”

“I can hear every single movement you make. It may sound crazy and stalkerish, but I can hear pretty much everything to do with you at this moment. I can hear you shifting your toes in your ballet slippers, I can hear the swish of your hair as you move, I can tell that you favor your right leg just a tiny bit, probably from an old injury, most likely the knee. I can hear that slight gasp of air you just took in surprise at my having such intimate knowledge of you, I can hear your heart rate and breathing pick up as you realize the full extent of what I can really and truly ‘see’…I can see everything Tiffany.”

“…That’s…”

“Creepy as hell?”

“No. So there is something you don’t know. And here I thought you were a mind reader as well. But no. That’s absolutely amazing Jessica. You’re amazing.”

“Haha! Too bad. I really wanted to freak you out like I did to the rest of your company.”

“Oh, about them, they’re rea–”

“I know they are. And like I said before, there is no offense to be had.”

“And the smelling?”

“I mentioned before I don’t usually make live things, especially people, the subjects of my photographs. I take pictures of the New York cityscape, the outskirts of town, the rundown and unwanted areas, the tops of buildings, parks at night or at the crack of dawn, pretty much everything. I use my sense of hearing mostly to keep myself safe and to gage the position of my subject. But I use my sense of smell to choos