why i'm a lousy photographer

Rain started drizzling down as I hurried to the bus stop.

It was that strange inconsequential silent sort of rain that hardly wets you and can barely be seen except under the streetlights.

My bus number 77 trundled past the National Museum where a kampung-style movie screening was taking place under the giant banyan tree.

I couldn't see what was playing on the screen but against the white of the building, there were the silhouettes of perhaps a hundred little heads, rapt and still. And here and there, above the heads, the distinctive upside-down-bowl shapes of umbrellas bobbed about.

If I were truly dedicated, I would have hauled my ass off the bus, rummaged through my tote for my camera -- which I'd borrowed precisely because I'd wanted to take better photos -- and captured that shot, rain be damned.