Every time I question whether or not it’s worth all the challenges of shooting 120 at events I get back a shot like this. Yeah, sure, not the world’s greatest image but the textures and depth, for me, remain singular and what I’m after. And, at least, different. Which is good, because the funny looks, ranging from pity to full-on scorn, I get when standing among the photo pool with a clunky old 67 can make me doubt the wisdom of the entire enterprise. BTW, the flare from the flash on the left side of the frame was just a lucky coincidence. But as Henry said in Barfly, “Dumb luck. Yeah, but that counts too.”