The first trip after the completion of the book, I’m supposed to be free from the smelly early morning hours at fish markets.

Except, I can’t stay away and I love it still.

Piles and piles of fish. Boats. Nets. Faces. A kilo here. An auctioneer raises his hand. The assistant records the sale. It all comes back to me. After 17 years spent photographing markets, it’s rhythm is rooted in me just as the smell of fish to a fisherman.

Just about done. The market is winding down, as am I.

I turn around and I see her watching me. Dark hair and a glorious smile. With the bowl on her head, she’s been standing at the edge of the market for a little while, watching. Oh that smile. Does she want her photo taken? I pick up my camera a second too late. She turns away in modesty and I only catch the fleeting glimpse of her beautiful smile.