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“You've probably seen him. The photograph shows a tiny man in a white shirt and dark pants, diving head first down the slick steel side of the building. Next to that gigantic building, he's just a small, dark squiggle, and at first you think he's a piece of lint or dust on the camera lens that got onto the picture by mistake. It's only when you look closely that you understand. The squiggle is human. A time being. A life. His arms are next to his body and his one knee is bent, like he's doing an Irish jig, only upside down. It's all wrong. He shouldn't be dancing. He shouldn't be there at all.” — Ruth Ozeki
You've probably seen him. The photograph shows a tiny man in a white shirt and dark pants, diving head first down the slick steel side of the building. Next to that gigantic building, he's just a small, dark squiggle, and at first you think he's a piece of lint or dust on the camera lens that got onto the picture by mistake. It's only when you look closely that you understand. The squiggle is human. A time being. A life. His arms are next to his body and his one knee is bent, like he's doing an Irish jig, only upside down. It's all wrong. He shouldn't be dancing. He shouldn't be there at all.