A red Jag on the M6

I couldn’t tell what it was from Jennifer’s iPhone photo, but I hurried back across Belfast to shoot the probably-cool red car before the owner discovered there was a photographer prowling the area and bolted. Though, from what I’ve heard about E-Types, it’d be 50/50 whether the thing started.

I made it. I walked around the thing, squatting with my M6 and encouraging other men passing by to grunt and mumble, oh, sure, I guess I’ll get a photo, too.

“What is it? Is it a P—?”

“It’s a Jag, right?” I said. I walked around the back and pretended to read off the boot. “Yeah, a Jag.”

“Is that a film camera? Mirrorless?”

“I’ve got one of each,” I blushed, holding up the X100VI dangling on my other side.

“Neat.” Small talk quota fulfilled, the men caught back up with their families, likely headed for ice cream.

The car was gone later when I walked back down the hill.