“I don’t even remember taking this shot,” he said incredulously, “It’s beautiful and almost frighteningly perfect. My assistant thought it was photoshop until I showed him the negative.”
“Crazy how jubilant they are so happy surrounded by war and such horribleness.”
“Well you remember when you were a kid, you could find happiness in the smallest of situations. Piece of paper? World War 2 fighter jet. Overripe tomato? Bomb to be dropped on an unsuspecting car as it drove by.”
“With all due respect, I don’t remember having a childhood where my mother walked three miles for rice rations each day. and kids a few months older than this started in Kathy Lee Gifford’s sweatshop to pay for their siblings schooling.”
An uncomfortable but requisite silence fell between them, both continuing to stare at the photo.
“I suppose not.”