It was two days before Easter, and the market parking lot was a world of movement. Tires crunching over pavement, carts rattling against curbs, conversations floating in and out of earshot. But Henry wasn’t paying much attention to the noise—he was too busy holding his new camera, a Kodak Brownie. His Christmas present, a gift from his mother, had become his most prized possession.

He had taken a number shots already—his mom selecting a salmon fillet inside, a curious pigeon pecking at discarded crumbs near the entrance—but now, standing in the parking lot on this gray spring day, he turned his attention toward the street. He had one picture left on the roll of eight.