“Do you mind if I sit here?”

The Photographer looked up from his camera. A Traveler stood at the other end of his table. “Sure, go ahead.” The Photographer said, returning to his camera.

“What are you doing?” The Traveler asked.

“Changing my lens.” The Photographer explained. “I need wider shots.”

“Wider shots, huh?” The Traveler mused, leaning his head on his hand. “What do you take pictures of?”

The Photographer clicked his lens back into place, bringing the camera up to his eye, checking the viewfinder. “Anything that catches my eye.”

“I can respect that.” The Traveler hummed.

The Photographer set his camera to the side. “What do you want from me, Traveler?” He asked.

“You know who I am?” The Traveler asked.

“Yes.” The Photographer said. “You caught my eye.”

“Well!” The Traveler grinned wide. “That makes things easier.”

“You never answered my question.” The Photographer fiddled with the camera strap around his neck. “What do you want?”

“You know, I met a person once. This person had no face and no name, only a title. Only… a purpose. This person had nothing to themself, and yet… had a favorite cup. It wasn't really anyone's favorite cup, but in the face of utter helplessness, one tends to cling to the smallest things. This person found their own lack of identity… unfair. I wonder, Photographer, if you have a favorite cup?”

“You don't need me to tell you.” The Photographer said dryly.

“Humor me.”

“It's got a bird on it. A bluebird. I use it for tea, never coffee.”

“If this cup were to break,” the Traveler asked. “Would you find it unfair?”

“Cups tend to break.” The Photographer gave a slight smile. “So it goes.”

“So it goes.” Echoed the Traveler. “Sometimes, I think, if I can know everything that has and will happen to me, what's the point in doing anything? But then, if I know everything that will happen to me, it must happen, right? So there's no way I just don't do anything, because clearly I do something. But why? I go around in circles for hours! Usually my head starts to hurt.”

“It must be a pain.” The Photographer took a sip of lukewarm coffee, almost forgotten in the midst of conversation. “And awfully inconvenient.”

“It is.” The Traveler continued to smile. “Why do you take pictures?’

“I'm a photographer.” The Photographer said simply. “It's what I do.”

“And why are you a photographer?”

“There is nothing else for me to be.” The Photographer looked down at his camera. “You travel. You bear the lives of all you meet, and all you know. I am a Photographer. I bear witness to the lives of all I see, and never my own. Because there's nothing else for me to be.”

“And yet, you're here.” The Traveler said. “Why?”

“I think that's the question I asked you.” The Photographer said.

“You answered it for me. I'm a Traveler. I carry the burden of Knowing.” The Traveler laughed. “I guess I wanted to meet a kindred spirit."

“I'm sorry to disappoint.” The Photographer said.

“No, not at all. You've been more than I could have hoped for.”

“I didn't think there was much sense in hoping for someone such as yourself.”

The Traveler sighed. “None of you seem to understand.”

“Enlighten me.”

“You hope to find yourself in your photos. You know that the photographer is just out of frame.” The Traveler made a spiral in the air with a finger. “But maybe, if you keep looking, you'll find him.”

“You've lost yourself to the futility of Knowledge and the weight of time.” The Photographer ran a hand along the top of his camera. “But maybe, if you keep walking, you'll find him in someone else.”

“A camera cannot take pictures on its own.”

“There is no Knowledge without someone to Know.”

The Traveler laughed again. “See, what did I tell you?”

“It doesn't mean any of that was true.” The Photographer grinned now.

“Maybe, Maybe not. Either way, it's fun to think about.” The Traveler tapped the table. “Well, I should get going.”

“Not so fast.” The Photographer placed his hand on the Traveler's. “Knowledge comes with a price. You're buying me another coffee.”

“You sly dog.” The Traveler seemed genuinely surprised.

“A photographer is a conniving creature, and like I said, you've caught my eye.” The Photographer pushed his empty cup to the side, hailing a waiter. “So, tell me about yourself, Mr. Orne.”

“I'm sure you already know everything interesting, Mr. Zima.”

“Humor me.”