Hard Beat

My eyes wander as we walk. The many women I see peering through windows, eyes shaded by their burkas, make me wonder what they are thinking right now. Do they look at the uniforms of our armed forces and think savior or enemy? Their eyes express nothing. Barefoot little boys sit on thresholds, eyes wide as saucers with both fear and curiosity as they watch the brigade of desert camo uniforms stomp through their town. A constant keening sound has become white noise to my ears, but I can see women and kids bent over at the waist in certain courtyards, mourning whomever they think they’ve lost. I force myself to put up my fourth wall, shut my own emotion off so that I can report objectively and not be affected by the sights and sounds of devastation around me as best as I can. It’s not as easy as it looks, but I know Beaux is documenting everything: the emotional destruction in candid shots now, and then the physical destruction for Worldwide when we reach the epicenter.