context: The text darts through Times Square on a Saturday night. Like a bunch of fries raised together, it revels in the absurdity of pop culture’s rituals. Sometimes the ketchup doesn’t come out, and instead you notice the most improbable coincidences— once that won’t take you anywhere.

The photographs are taken exclusively in streets and public spaces. They are about people—their loud details, confident gestures, and unmistakable American style. They capture what makes someone magnetic: being truly themselves, seamlessly integrated into the cityscape, yet impossible to overlook.

PICK UP 666

Ordering French fries at a McDonald’s in Times Square: it’s Take Order “666”. What are the odds of that number coming up? I reckon there’s one lucky one a day. Maybe not every day. It’s already night, and it’s a Saturday: more people, more fries, more orders. But this is Times Square. Anything feels buildable. I’m a stranger here, ordering something that claims to come from my country. Why French fries, anyway? I thought they were Belgian. We spend our time blaming each other for everything: French cream to the English, English cream to the French… whipped cream? Do we whip? Let’s talk about the fries themselves—dry sticks, barely yellow, too thin to stay warm for long. Best when dipped in ketchup. I take them in pairs, pinched between my fingers, dipping them together like best friends: raised together, dying together. A red, saucy togetherness. McDonald’s used to have a red logo; now it’s green, because green looks better for the planet. An efficient wash to the conscience. The multinational never spent Four Darks in Red to change the tone. New ecstasy is to green! So to get fries there on a Saturday night, the colourless mouth-like machine spits out a perfect number—there, in one of the world’s widest and most luminous screen landscapes. Three times “6”.

66 Scenes from America?

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EATING A HAMBURGER 1982

It’s a simple one—camera shot. The focus is straight on. Andy Warhol is sitting at a table. He is wearing a suit, a white shirt, and a red tie. He sits upright, stiff and shy. The wall behind him is bluish-grey; the table is made of glistening black glass. On it sit a Burger King takeaway paper bag and, to the side, a bottle of Heinz ketchup.

He looks straight at the camera. Then he briefly glances at the paper bag on the table and looks back at the camera. His eyes drop again to the bag as he brings his hands out from beneath the table. He grips the bag from both sides and unfolds the paper to open it. He throws a quick glance inside and plunges his right hand in. First, he pulls out a paper napkin and lays it flat on the table. Then he reaches back into the bag, searching a little longer for the burger box. As he places it on the table, he sets the takeaway bag aside. It rests inflated to his left, farther away from the ketchup bottle. He opens the box with both hands and takes out the burger, still wrapped in paper. As he starts opening the wrapping, he pushes the empty box aside. He flips the burger to fully unfold the paper. Carefully, he lifts the top bun to look inside. The bun lies facing up as he grabs the ketchup bottle while still looking down at the burger. He opens the bottle and shakes it over the paper beside the burger, trying to coax the sauce out. He shakes harder and harder—twelve times in total. The sauce finally comes out on the last shake, guided by both hands. He sets the bottle back on the table with both hands and closes the burger. He grabs it with his right hand and dips it into the ketchup. On the way to his mouth, his left hand comes up to support the other side. Together, they bring it to his lips. He takes a clear bite. As he looks down, he screws the cap back onto the bottle and nudges it slightly to the side. Still chewing, he lifts his eyes briefly and stares at the burger. He brings it to his lips almost like a cuddle, smells it, and looks off to the side. The burger grazes his lips; his mouth opens mechanically again. Another bite. He appears to struggle with the chewing, his eyes still unfocused, looking away. His left hand detaches from the burger. He lowers it slightly, then brings the burger back into both hands and looks at its underside. As the burger transfers to his left hand, his right arm drops toward the table as if seeking support, but he changes his mind at the last second and reaches instead for the napkin. He lifts it flat, then halfway scrunches it, bringing it to his mouth. One clear wipe. He places it back on the table. He takes another bite, holding the burger with both hands, this time looking straight at the camera. He chews, jiggling slightly, tightening his grip on the burger. Another bite. He shifts the napkin on the table. He dips the burger into the sauce again and glances at the napkin. He wipes his right hand lightly, moves the napkin closer to the paper, and slides his hand back beneath the table. He keeps chewing, seeming to struggle to swallow. As soon as he gulps, he takes another bite. He holds his teeth on the bread a little longer than necessary, looks up briefly, then drops his gaze again. He chews; his arm and upper body sway slightly, suggesting discomfort. This is difficult for him. He takes another bite. His eyebrows lift in a questioning expression as his mouth opens wide. His left hand shakes while holding the burger, and he looks down at it as if it were a curious object. He brings his right hand back to the burger and flips it open, lifting the bottom bun. He removes it and sets it down on the paper. He folds the half-circle of bread and dips it into the sauce. His left hand is now beneath the table. Again, his eyebrows rise as he takes a bite. He chews thoughtfully. Another bite—another eyebrow lift. The chewing time shortens before the next one. The following chew lasts longer; his head sways from right to left. He briefly looks at the camera before opening his mouth, taking another bite, then placing the burger directly back onto the paper. He grabs the napkin, presses his fingers into it, and wipes his mouth thoroughly. He tosses it aside, then folds—or delicately scrunches—the paper around the remaining burger. He places the wrapped burger back into the box, grabs the paper bag, quickly puts the box inside, followed by the first napkin. He picks up the second napkin, wipes his mouth again, looks at it, and drops it into the bag. He scrunches the bag while looking away, holds it for a few seconds, then places it on the table. In one movement, he slides both the bag and the ketchup bottle to his left. He brings his hands together, elbows and forearms resting on the table, fingers interlaced. He glances repeatedly at the bag and the bottle, back to the camera, then down again. He plays slightly with his mouth, opening it a little. After 45 seconds, he looks at the camera and says “Uh, my name is Andy Warhol and I just finished eating a hamburger.”

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