three stolen photographs
One
It was the afternoon and so hot that the ground steamed and sunburnt tourists scuttled like bugs into shop doorways and the cool, dark interiors of cafes. Hands were held up to eyes to stop the sun from glaring too fiercely into them, and in the approximately thirteen minutes it had been since Bruce and Tony exited Stark headquarters, Bruce had overheard three separate arguments. The sun seemed to tear off a thin layer of - not humanity, because it would be kind of ridiculous to call humanity something that it took conscious effort to keep up. It took away a sliver of people’s dignity. Melted it clean off.
“I love the summer,” said Tony, frowning. They sidestepped a family clustered around a map. The youngest child had tear streaks down her face. “Makes going out for lunch kind of exciting when everyone has gone batshit crazy.”
“Well, I kind of like it.”
