They both have enormous lenses on their cameras, telephoto things like hungry mouths gobbling up the light, and they’re pointing them out over the pond at the raft of ducks patrolling the water.
We start up a conversation with the gentleman with the wavy salt-and-pepper hair and the string of prayer beads wrapped around his wrist, confirming his status as a bird photographer. He seems pretty knowledgeable, so I ask him if it’s possible I might have seen an actual bald eagle in Prospect Park, and with a cheeky grin he suggests we check out his Instagram.
When Katie and I both obligingly fish out our phones to follow him, he protests jokingly, “I was just being an asshole!”
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