Street Photography for the Purist

I want to experience a world different than my own. Perhaps someone else’s emotions at the time they were feeling them.
Without reading.
Just by looking.
And being grabbed by the visual balls.
Moments of quiet introspection spied by an intrepid photographer with a fast lens didn’t stop happening in the forties and fifties in Paris.
They happen today.
In Paris but also in your city or town or hamlet or wherever the fuck you reside.
The style of street photography, however, is that of a black and white photograph.
Not a sensor image.
A photograph.
Silver-halide-based.
Grainy.
Sometimes with the horizon line not straight like Mr. Cartier-Bresson did with his 1974 photo of the Jardin des Tuileries. Fast film and fast lenses
can do nothing for the horizon line.
I want to see the snow in the brim of the hat.
I love seeing just a few visual clues but feeling something.
That’s a successful street photograph.
I think that street photography is my golf. I used to play golf. Something had to go.
It was golf. Golf cannot be forced much like street photography cannot be squeezed as juice from fruit at will.