“Hey girlie, take our picture too!” Nick called up the side of the building behind me. Confused, I followed Nick’s gaze, looking for the intended recipient of his cry. Above me had emerged a girl of about sixteen, balanced precariously out the second-floor window, camera currently slack in her hands. From her position, she had taken pictures of the sky, the budding moon, or the nearby flag, or even all of the above. Like me though, she had started, searching in confusion for Nick's voice.

Finally, she spotted us, secreted away at a table under the nearby trees, and she stared dumbly, as if unsure what to do. 

“Take a picture of us!” Nick called out again.

She misheard, thinking that we were telling her not to take a picture, and although her words soared away with the wind, we caught the general gist of her hasty clarification.

Nick called out again, laughing, “No, take a picture of us!” 

Seemingly taken aback, she laughed with us, but she raised her camera hesitantly, and we raised our beer cans in tribute. She snapped a picture, glanced at it, grinned, and gave us a thumbs up. We watched from our peripheral vision as she took a few more pictures of the tinted sky, before disappearing through her hotel room window again.

“You know, we’re never going to get that picture,” I laughed. It was odd, the feeling of being stored in a series of pixels, the three of us hanging out for all eternity in a stranger’s photo-reel.

“No, I don’t suppose we will. But it’ll probably end up on the Internet somewhere,” Nick agreed, grinning and lifting his drink to his lips again.