BRUGES

In Bruges, with the Christmas markets filling the centre of the town, I felt the need to escape the throngs of shoppers. As I often do, I slipped away, weaving through a maze of back streets until the noise began to fall behind me. Turning a corner, a view opened up and something in the perspective caught my attention. A lone figure sat on a bench by the water, hood pulled low, his body slouched and contained by the space around him. He raises a cigarette to his lips, inhales deeply, then drinks from a bottle of Belgian beer. The subtle signs were there; he seemed lost in his own haze, too far removed to care about the world unfolding around him. The photograph may have captured a moment in Bruges, but it was not the same moment he was experiencing, nor one he was likely to remember.