Sometimes, I am just cursing my luck - I would go out, camera in hand with the great anticipation to take a picture, and another one, and another one, and another one - that fervent thrill of clicking the shutter and knowing that you've captured a moment in someone's like - a moment in one's own life - a moment. And then luck strikes out - streets are empty, streets are lifeless, streets are abandoned - because you've forgotten to check the event calendar of the city, or because the weather has decided to turn sour, or because you have simply decided to go to the wrong city.
And then, there are those times when luck not simply smiles but shows you its multi-coloured rainbow teeth - when you have a camera, when you are in the right set of mind, and when the streets are full - because there is a parade. I happened upon such a parade in Vienna - a love parade - where even the police officers had abandoned their typical gloomy black uniforms for a touch of colour on the lapels or a flower in the hair; where the austerity of the elegance was replaced by the frivolous nature of the topless divas; where the children had decided that they will give up trying to understand the whole discussion between the left and the right and they simply joined the side of "love and happiness" ("what is inequality, daddy?").