Liz Sherman (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
walking_napalm) wrote2009-05-24 12:57 am
walking_napalm) wrote2009-05-24 12:57 am
Packages for Charlie and Laura
The first package has been wrapped up in paper, far more professionally than anything Liz could have managed. It contains a bundle of neatly folded clothing; a half-dozen each of shirts, pants, and jackets, along with two belts. All are fairly simple in design and execution, with nothing outwardly exceptional about them. The pants look like denim, in both blue and black; the shirts are blue, green, gray, a few long sleeve and a few short sleeve; the jackets black, brown, and tan. The belts look like leather (and they're really, really not).
Of course, when one looks closer, one would notice that there are no tags, no brand names, no visible seams on the shirts, and no machine wash instructions.
The accompanying note is a folded piece of notebook paper. On the outside, it says CHARLIE in neat capital letters; on the inside, in a less-neat scrawl:
The second package is less a package and more an envelope, the outside of which says LAURA. Inside, there are two items: a two gigabyte USB flash drive and a Polaroid picture. The photograph is of three enormous sea lions sunning themselves on the beach; the white tab has an arrow indicating that the photo should be turned over. On the back:
There are roughly 100 photos on the drive, clearly the cream of the crop after a judicious trimming. The subjects and settings vary wildly. Several lonely shots of Alcatraz Island from a boat, the sky gray and ominous, a few with the San Francisco Bay Bridge shrouded in fog in the background. There are photos of the bridge itself, lit up at night and taken from the water; one taken from a height on Treasure Island, of the night skyline of San Francisco laid out below, viewed through the lights of the bridge.
There are photos of palm trees and laughing faces in Union Square; of crowded cable cars and a little boy dripping ice cream on his father's head, a balloon tied around his pudgy wrist. Sea lions and sand dunes feature in several photographs, as do the bustle (and fish) of Fisherman's Wharf, and the reflecting pool and main entrance of the California Palace of the Legion of Honor. Photos taken in Japantown (featuring, among other locales, a kabuki theatre), Dolores Park, of the outside of AT&T Park, the Golden Gate Bridge, a chocolate factory, the Sutro Baths.
There are pictures in more regular, less touristy neighborhoods, of rows of brightly-colored Painted Ladies lining the roads and of San Francisco's famous steep hills, of old Victorian houses in the Marina District, parrots on Telegraph Hill, and street shots in the Mission District by day and by night, storefronts and strangers. There are photos of the view from the top of Mount Davidson, with every part of the city that lies east of the mountain (including the Bay Bridge) visible and beginning to shine as the sun sets and the lights come on.
There are several photos of the dark interior of Alcatraz, lit by flashlight and camera flash; the cells are rusted, the pipes exposed, and the floor wet, the scene desolate and empty besides the tall man in a suit, studying a handheld machine and wearing a sidearm and BPRD earpiece, who is caught in the corner of one shot.
Liz herself appears in only two photographs: one where her reflection, dressed in civilian black and holding up the camera, appears in the window of a taxidermy shop full of strange stuffed animals; and one where the shot is less sharp than the others. Still inside the dark cell block of Alcatraz, wearing a gun and a stab vest under a black windbreaker, Liz is frozen in the act of typing a code on a temperature gauge device adhered to the wall. Her face is intent on her task; she does not realize that her camera has been hijacked.
(This one slipped in by mistake. The next photo -- the one where she is glaring at Leach and holding out a hand to demand her camera back -- was summarily deleted.)
All of the photographs have been taken with an experienced hand and a keen eye for scenes, for detail, for faces, and for framing; a few are black and white but most in vibrant color.
There are a lot of options.
Of course, when one looks closer, one would notice that there are no tags, no brand names, no visible seams on the shirts, and no machine wash instructions.
The accompanying note is a folded piece of notebook paper. On the outside, it says CHARLIE in neat capital letters; on the inside, in a less-neat scrawl:
These are rated up to 3000°C. Let me know if you need anything else.
The second package is less a package and more an envelope, the outside of which says LAURA. Inside, there are two items: a two gigabyte USB flash drive and a Polaroid picture. The photograph is of three enormous sea lions sunning themselves on the beach; the white tab has an arrow indicating that the photo should be turned over. On the back:
I know this isn't your San Francisco but I hope it's close. Mark your favorites from the flash drive and send it back to me.
This is your birthday present in progress, just so you know.
-Liz
There are roughly 100 photos on the drive, clearly the cream of the crop after a judicious trimming. The subjects and settings vary wildly. Several lonely shots of Alcatraz Island from a boat, the sky gray and ominous, a few with the San Francisco Bay Bridge shrouded in fog in the background. There are photos of the bridge itself, lit up at night and taken from the water; one taken from a height on Treasure Island, of the night skyline of San Francisco laid out below, viewed through the lights of the bridge.
There are photos of palm trees and laughing faces in Union Square; of crowded cable cars and a little boy dripping ice cream on his father's head, a balloon tied around his pudgy wrist. Sea lions and sand dunes feature in several photographs, as do the bustle (and fish) of Fisherman's Wharf, and the reflecting pool and main entrance of the California Palace of the Legion of Honor. Photos taken in Japantown (featuring, among other locales, a kabuki theatre), Dolores Park, of the outside of AT&T Park, the Golden Gate Bridge, a chocolate factory, the Sutro Baths.
There are pictures in more regular, less touristy neighborhoods, of rows of brightly-colored Painted Ladies lining the roads and of San Francisco's famous steep hills, of old Victorian houses in the Marina District, parrots on Telegraph Hill, and street shots in the Mission District by day and by night, storefronts and strangers. There are photos of the view from the top of Mount Davidson, with every part of the city that lies east of the mountain (including the Bay Bridge) visible and beginning to shine as the sun sets and the lights come on.
There are several photos of the dark interior of Alcatraz, lit by flashlight and camera flash; the cells are rusted, the pipes exposed, and the floor wet, the scene desolate and empty besides the tall man in a suit, studying a handheld machine and wearing a sidearm and BPRD earpiece, who is caught in the corner of one shot.
Liz herself appears in only two photographs: one where her reflection, dressed in civilian black and holding up the camera, appears in the window of a taxidermy shop full of strange stuffed animals; and one where the shot is less sharp than the others. Still inside the dark cell block of Alcatraz, wearing a gun and a stab vest under a black windbreaker, Liz is frozen in the act of typing a code on a temperature gauge device adhered to the wall. Her face is intent on her task; she does not realize that her camera has been hijacked.
(This one slipped in by mistake. The next photo -- the one where she is glaring at Leach and holding out a hand to demand her camera back -- was summarily deleted.)
All of the photographs have been taken with an experienced hand and a keen eye for scenes, for detail, for faces, and for framing; a few are black and white but most in vibrant color.
There are a lot of options.