The act of letting go was the hardest thing I'd have to do. My family was my family. I couldn’t change who they were, and the sooner I accepted that, the happier I would be. But I could let go of Easton. I didn’t ever want to go back.

With some distance, I could clearly see how our relationship had looked. On the outside, we were perfect. But on the inside, I’d completely vanished. Without him, I could be strong and take charge and have fun.

The music eventually transitioned to something else, and the kids howled and clapped for me. I waved goodbye to my new friends and took the slips of paper they handed me with their phone numbers so I could text them some pictures. I headed back out of the market, feeling lighter than I had been in days.

I headed for a part of town called Music Row. I'd heard that in the seventies it had been home to several music studios for young rhythm and blues singers trying to make it. Sort of Brixton's answer to Motown Records. My feet splashed in leftover puddles from the overnight rain.

Between two buildings in a not-quite alleyway, I caught sight of a section of puddles that looked like they formed a perfect circle. In the center of them lay a piece of chain and pipe. Getting down on my haunches I snapped away, lost in my camera and images for several minutes. The light from one of the buildings glinted in the broken glass window of another, and I lost several more minutes going for shots that were integral to my assignment.

Looking at my map, I rounded a corner, searching for the most famous studio of all. Brixton Gold. If I could get one good shot of it against the graying clouds, with maybe some people standing in front, I would have a good start for the assignment and could head back before the clouds opened up as they threatened to do.

“You know, I’m starting to think you're following me.”

I whirled around, heart pounding. Leaning against one of the doors next to a youth center and record store stood Lex. With his dark jeans, tan sweater, and light gray pea coat, he looked distinctly out of place. If I'd shot a photo of him that moment, I would certainly have a juxtaposition shot. Or maybe I could use it to show how Brixton was becoming the new Harlem. With white urbanites moving in by the droves, taking advantage of the cheap rent and revitalization.

Or, I could just say hi. “Are you sure you’re not the one following me?”

He shrugged. “I was here first. I thought that was you as you crossed the street. What are you doing in this neck of the woods?”

I held up my camera. “A girl's gotta eat.”

“I would hate to see you starve.”