I have to admit—I fell in love with Nico a little, or at least with his mustache.
Despite his vaguely Arabian charm, he doesn’t come from too far away, from Santa Barbara to be precise.
He opens his briefcase. I make these myself, he says. He is here to place them, to place the design.
Click! My camera jams. Damn it, let’s hope the shot went through. Good luck Nico! He’s already gone.