Golden Square

Sam only needed a few photos. He kept repeating this point. “They don’t even have to be good photos! This isn’t some school competition. But the publisher told me I have space for two more photos, and so I want two more photos. I’m greedy like that.” “Surely you could just find something online?” “No, I can’t just find something online, Olly! If the pictures were legit, I’d have to pay for them, and if they weren’t legit — well, you know me — I’d end up with some AI-generated slop that turned out to be a photograph of some random square in Iowa or Prague, with a statue of Generalissimo Franco imposed on it, probably with six fingers on each hand, and as much as I’d love some publicity for my book, that isn’t the strategy I’d choose, truth be told. Is it really that hard to take a few phone photos of Golden Square?” As much as I hated to admit it, because younger brothers should never be encouraged in that way, Sam had a point. I was in London — he was in Scotland. It would not be…