At the keyboard, there she is.
I don't understand the quiescence of the reading community in response to this face at the keyboard, unless it happens to be plastered on every bus, postage stamp and Euro note from here to the Bosporus. For one thing, it represents a reportage experience for which the slightest talent would melt at the shutter release. For another, it's the one expression apposite for the vibration in its pediment, for the approach to its hearing, for the courtesy of its illumination, and for the reduction of every viewer to the original cry of human life, "will you listen to me!" I can't stand how gorgeous this picture is; it's an affront to my peace. And I can't be the only one.
The audience has lost interest, probably just as simple as that. Hopefully not all of them...
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