"On your left!" shouted a kind, gentle voice.

          Brandon scooted over, giving space for a female biker to ride past him.

          She turned around, smiling. "Thanks!"

          Brandon gave a friendly smile back. He had noticed many bikers riding the bridge. He couldn't blame them. It was such a fun, welcoming place, drawing everyone like a shiny diamond.

          Today, Brandon found himself on the east span of the bridge. He was wearing a red T-shirt, black shorts, and blue running shoes. He had already taken several photos, all of them turning out fantastic.

          Brandon stared at the fancy downtown Vancouver buildings, happily reminding him that he'd be presenting to the photo class in three days. From the bridge, the buildings popped up just over the trees of Stanley Park—yet another precious landmark near the bridge.

          Brandon glanced over to the scenic North Vancouver. This was where he was raised and still lived, alongside his dear mother, father, and sister, who loved him very much.

          That's when Brandon realized something so fascinating. He was actually standing where the two longing cities, Vancouver and North Vancouver, physically connected above the ocean. This place, Lions Gate Bridge, was holding the two regions together like a long, thick rope. The way they touched one another—the way they embraced one another.

          Lost in the moment, Brandon noticed there was someone standing next to him. It was that same man from the other day, the one who had asked Brandon how he was doing.

          The man smiled like before and said, "So you're back already, hey?"

          Brandon chuckled. "How could I not come back? Look at this view."

          The man slowly stepped forward, placing his hands on the green rail, the wind blowing through his ageing hair. He took a moment to himself before responding, enjoying all the comfort and pleasure the bridge gave.

          "Yeah, this place is something else," he admitted. "I leave my car in Stanley Park and walk around here when I can. More people need to come up on foot and experience this."

          Brandon didn't need to verbally reply; the atmosphere spoke for itself. He had once heard a saying: Some things are better left unsaid. And this was definitely one of those moments. There were no words to describe the scenery. It just wouldn't be appropriate to even try.

          The man acknowledged Brandon further and commented, "I see you've got that camera again."

          Brandon clutched his most precious device, holding it like a baby in his arms.

          "I bring it almost everywhere I go," he told him proudly.

          "That so?" The man looked pleased to see the teenager had a loving dedication.

          "Yeah. It's a serious hobby of mine."

          "I can tell."

          The two stood there quietly, occasional words being said here and there. But it was in silence where the deepest connection was made. Brandon felt a strange bond with this man, as if he had known him for many years. It was weird, but Brandon was open to the feeling.

          "So, what's your name?" the man finally asked.

          "Brandon." The young photographer reached out his spare hand. "And you?"

          The man laughed. "I would shake your hand but my grip isn't quite what it used to be."

          Brandon adjusted himself on the walkway as another biker rode past. "Oh...and how did that happen?"

          "Eh, just all that shit I used to lift back up north while working. It takes a fuckin' toll on you."

          Brandon nodded. "Yeah, I don't doubt it. Sounds like hard work."

          It seemed as if an in-depth conversation would begin, but the idea was cut off by the sound of a loud horn. The two bystanders, Brandon and his latest acquaintance, glanced over to see a large, beautiful cruise ship coming towards them.

          "Well, would you look at that," the man said with a grin.

          The boat was massive and exquisite, stretching out across the bay. It was white with blue spots, and was heading towards them at a swift pace. Brandon knew that he needed to capture this. So he prepared his camera, adjusting his hands to place the perfect grip. The ship's horn blasted again, probably loud enough to startle any bird in the city. Brandon did what he did best, lining up the best angle for the shot. He took several photos back-to-back.

          Snap! Snap! Snap!

          A minute or so later, the cruise ship was now probably a-hundred yards from the bridge. Brandon and his friend examined the scene like little kids. The closer the boat got, the bigger it became. In a fun, exciting way, Brandon wondered if the ship would even make it under the bridge! Was there enough clearance below for it to sail by?

          And right then, it was as if the man was reading the teenager's mind like a book.

          He smiled again. "Don't worry, she'll make it. I've seen her do it before."

          He was right. The large bow of the ship successfully made it underneath the baffling bridge. Countless numbers of overjoyed travellers stood atop the deck of the grand boat. They screamed and smiled emphatically, waving their hands up to any spectators upon the towering bridge. It was simply an amazing moment. Brandon felt like he could reach down and clasp their hands into his very own as they cruised past.

          The remains of the boat mysteriously vanished under the bridge, sailing out to the graceful western horizon. White, foamy ripples were left in a straight line from the ship's mighty propeller, as the ocean waters gradually returned to a soft, friendly shade of blue.

          The man took a breath. "Wow...I'm grateful we got to experience that, Brandon."

          "Yeah, that was pretty damn cool," the teenager admitted. "I got some really nice shots there, too."

          "I know—I saw. You looked like a pro out there."

          A few moments passed as the calm wind blew over the pair and their gratified souls. 

          That's when it seemed the man was ready to carry on his way, his body language signalling that he was off to conquer whatever hopeful journey lay next in his life.

          "Well, good luck with your photos, bud." He gave Brandon a pat on the back. "And take care of yourself. You've got your whole life ahead of you."

          Brandon stared deep into his old, yet educated eyes, really taking in his words to heart. "Yeah, you, too. Take care of yourself ."

          He watched as the man began to walk away with honour. He marched proudly, as if a noble world war veteran taking his place on the sacred battlefield.

          But before he got too far away, the man turned around, smiling.

          "Oh, yeah, my name is Scott," he told Brandon. "Scott McKenzie." He gave the teenager one last wave goodbye, before taking off, this time for good.

          Brandon stood there, thinking to himself. How Goddamn amazing was this place? Yes, he had originally come to the bridge to take pictures, but it was so much bigger than that. So much deeper. All these incredible sights he was witnessing; all these nostalgic moments he was experiencing. This was what Brandon loved so much about photography.

          And he couldn't fucking wait to share it all with the class.