Snapshot by Dave Rigby
With the girlfriend gone, I can’t afford this place, so it’s downsizing time. Going through box after box in the attic, I come across my old camera. There’s an unfinished film inside. With the camera pensioned off when I got my first smart phone, the film must be all of ten years old. In town the next day I find a feller down in the arcade who still does developing. The age of the film shouldn’t be a problem. But it turns out the price tag includes having to listen to an endless story about his dog. When I collect the prints the following day, I’m suddenly quite excited. No idea what they’ll show. I escape the storyteller and grab a coffee. Most of the snaps are either under or over-exposed. There’s one or two where I’ve tried and failed to be arty. But the final one stuns me. I’ve no memory of it being taken. Perhaps the barman took the shot. Four of us, arms over shoulders, like first row forwards, grinning lik...