The Fast and the Photographic

I was racing down Hauser when this apartment building caused the breaks on my truck to lock. Since I don't know how to do the Toyko Drift, I instead settled for a tire shredding screetch, and poorly composed photo.

I dub thee 'the Minaret Parapet', I announced to a few startled neighbors, one of whom wet her finger in order to write my plate number on a dirty car door. "Would you prefer the Deco drip," I bellowed as I sped away.

Most are suspicious of my picture taking. Some ask if I'm an appraiser. Few believe in my fandom. In East Adams, a woman yelled from her door, "Why are you taking a picture of my house?"
"It's a fantastic house, " I responded.
"Why are you taking a picture of it then?" she continued.

Many are concerned that I'm trying to capture their likeness, perhaps for deportation purposes. "I'm photographing turrets," I'll offer disarmingly (then show other images in the camera memory). Sometimes I tender my card, in a gesture people accept as legitimizing. "If you'd ever feel comfortable letting me in, I'd love to see the interior," I've asked.

One man responded, "Nobody gets in, not even mama."
"When was the last time somebody got in?" I inquired smiling.
"I lets the cable guy in," he returned, without a trace of humor, "he don't stay long."