14” x 11” — Photo print on Canson Platine Fibre Rag 310 gsm.

It was my last day in Venice, Italy. It was cold and rainy, and I was irritable, but I decided to go out and explore since my stay was limited there. As I went to my ferry stop to cross the canal, I looked over and saw this woman. Her stare felt soft but intentional; it was something I had experienced often throughout Italy, but I didn’t mind it because any human interaction was welcomed, as I was alone and, oftentimes throughout my journey, incredibly lonely and incapable of communicating due to the language barrier. As I set out that day, I hoped I would make some kind of connection, perhaps even a friend. If only I had known what that day held. I walked aimlessly as the rain started to pour down on me. I ended up at a cafe where I decided to log onto one of the apps. I was matched with this handsome man. His name was Bohdan. He worked at a gallery in town, so I told him I was an artist and that it was my last day. We met at this sweet little wine bar next to one of the canals and immediately hit it off. He was sassy and loved to talk shit about Americans, which I enjoyed. After one drink, we looked at each other and decided we wanted to keep hanging out, so we walked. He was an art historian and insisted on taking me to all these hidden spots, giving me in-depth art lessons at each one. We ended up in hidden coves making out and giggling. We bar-hopped, had some tramezinni, walked and walked, talked about art and our life stories, and laughed and laughed. It was about 3 am now, and he said, “Let me take you to the farthest spot in Venice,” so we walked and ended up at the farthest point possible in a foggy park, on a bench. It felt like out of a movie. We smoked one last cigarette and smiled. He walked me back to my ferry stop, and as he said goodbye, he said, “I am going to write about this night in my journal”. We said goodbye, and I went home with only smiles.