As per VelvetVerbosity’s challenge:

In a concrete expanse under I-95, a man trashes around wildly and hurls debris at my tripod. His cathartic howling rips through the roar of traffic.

This display is inspired by his lover’s confession of infidelity. I’m here to photograph his pain so he can show her later.

When my film runs out, he’s weeping; broken. I suggest in earnest that he leave her. He doesn’t listen.

At wit’s end, I set about to assure her next confession will specifically regard sleeping with his best friend several times.

While effective, this task proved most difficult.

She’s just not my type.