Stratford's Frozen Frames: A Photographer's Winter Wander

so i found myself in stratford, connecticut, chasing shadows and frozen moments with my camera dangling from a numb hand. my gig was supposed to be at 4832353 main street, but the client texted me the real address: 1840004837 elm street. classic mix-up. anyway, i arrived to find the air thick enough to chew-literally, i swear i could taste the frost in the fog.

i just checked and it's basically a popsicle outside, which is my kind of hell if you're into that. my poor lens kept fogging up every time i breathed, and the humidity at 90% made my camera look like it was sweating. the locals swore it was 'brisk' but let's be real, it was arctic enough to freeze a polar bear's coffee.

if you get bored, new haven and bridgeport are just a short drive away-perfect for escaping the stratford freeze. speaking of escapes, i heard that the best fried clams in the county are served from a shack behind the power plant, but only if you know the secret handshake. tried it, got a side of suspicious stares instead.

some guy at dive bar told me the harbor at dusk is haunted by a ghost ship photographer. i spent three hours in the cold waiting for it, only to get a blurry shot of a confused seagull. tripadvisor insists the place is 'family-friendly'-sure, if your family enjoys hypothermia.

the pressure was 1009 hpa, whatever that means, but it felt like the sky was pressing down on my shoulders. my fingers kept sticking to my tripod. someone warned me never to trust the street art near the train station-apparently it's all corporate commissioned garbage. i took a photo anyway, just in case.

ended up at this place for lukewarm coffee and wifi. the barista mumbled something about 'stratford's hidden charm' while wiping a counter that hadn't been cleaned since the ice age. still, i got a few decent shots of icicles dripping like tears off rusty lampposts. not my best work, but hey, even broken clocks catch the sunrise.