hình ảnh : thắp sáng, vật chất, ly rượu, whisky, Ds106, Hurleylounge, Dailyshoot, Đồ gia vị, Ds443, Đồ uống chưng cất, Đồ uống, Kính cổ, Champagne stemware 4117x2744

@dailyshoot 2011/02/01: Fill the frame of a photograph with a single subject today. #ds443 Conrad knew exactly where she would be. One did not need to be a gypsy psychic to know where to find Lori. Pushing open the creaky wood door of The Sportsman Lodge, he held back his usual musing abot the utter ridiculuous name of this clap trap townie bar- as if it was the one and only place in the universe to find a sportsman. And around these parts, the sport was not a game, it was a war of psychology. It was battle of the most subtle kind, with tactics committed under the guise of smiles and false friendliness. "Good afternoon, Connie," creaked Debbie, the cigarette charred through voice of the bartender that ruled the pace with the glare of her offset eye, the 38 tucked away under the cash register, and the word baseball bat she had used more than once to break up a brawl. The smoke hung low, and there was barely 3 empty seats, all quality signs of prosperity that the bar was full on a Thursday afternoon. Not even needing to look, Conrad knew the rising and falling of loud conversation on the back corner near the dart board meant Lori was holding court. He could wait. No he could not. Skipping his usually bourbon and coke, Conrad idled up to the table, nodding and gently backslapping the locals. It did not surprise him how easy it is to quickly engrain one into the social hub of country burgs like this. Lori's howling laugh was in full swing, her red hair neatly organized in a worn bandana, swung back wildl;y as she led the usual rounds of gossip. Barely nodding an eye blank, she cleared her throat spotting the denim package under Conrad's arm. "Sorry boys and girls, but me and The Con need to do some business..." she announced with her best tease voice, setting off a whole new wave of clucking and snickering among the followers of her crowd. "Not here," Conrad muttered. He had a plan. So did Lori. He knew that. And she knew that he knew it. They were par at their game, and the game within the game. "Your place then?" she asked, not even needing to ask since it was within stumbling distance from the Lodge. Conrad cracked open a fresh bopttle of Bushmills. Lori never went for the cheap stuff. Save the Jack and the Beam for the townies. They small talked, The bottle volume decreased. The package sat on the table, the denim elephant in the room. She spun the glasses. He took hers. She mentioned the gig. It was old news for them, be it the Rag or the Swith or the Peruvian Blunder. Damn if she did not take the last of the scotch, her cackly laugh and waving mane of red hair covering her arm motion over his glass, the gold powder spilling cleanly out of her sleeve. Conrad had lost his attention. And, too busy thinking of the next round in the game, he made the cardinal con mistake of following the head fake, and missed that he was about to lose this round as he emptied his last glass. next...

Các hình ảnh có độ phân giải cao miễn ly, uống, thắp sáng, vật chất, ly rượu, whisky, Ds106, Hurleylounge, Dailyshoot, Đồ gia vị, Ds443, Đồ uống chưng cất, Đồ uống, Kính cổ, Champagne stemware

, chụp với một Canon EOS REBEL T1i 01/30 2017 Những hình ảnh chụp với 50.0mm, f/3.2s, 1/30s, ISO 400