Jerry stood in a pink inferno. He snapped photo after photo as cherry blossom petals lazily drifted down to meet his feet. It was as if he were stepping on the tongues of infants. Soft breezes would blow them into cotton candy swirls and Jerry would snap another photo in praise. He walked among the white bows, lens at the ready. The photographer was enamored with such beauty, but part of him would admit: he wouldn’t mind snapping something that stood out.