She came out of a James Dean movie and she sat in front of me… the blondness, the shyness, the constant smoking, the uneasiness in front of the lens… she thought her hair wasn't right and that I shouldn't take pictures of her. I took them anyway, ready to run after each click… She didn't know she was the kind of girl you meet in a film noir's hot summer day passing through a gas station or a general store, the kind of girl you ask for directions, or if she has seen the guy you're looking for… She didn't know she was the sunny kind of girl that fate had put in that particular spot as a last effort to make you abandon the search and go back… Because if you are a film noir hero, when you find what you're looking for, you wish you didn't… Her name was Sunday and that proved that there are no coincidences...
