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Sunset at the Holy Circus I’d read about this church — described in the guidebook like it was a hidden treasure: “A jewel of architecture. A must-see at sunset.” So of course, I showed up like I was about to win Photographer of the Year. Tripod ready, camera batteries charged, smug grin in place. The universe, however, had other plans. The moment the sun began to set, people started pouring in like it was Times Square on New Year’s Eve. Tourists in giant floppy hats. A kid running in circles with an ice cream cone melting faster than my patience. One guy who clearly thought the church steps were a stage, posing for 17 minutes like he was auditioning for Vogue. Meanwhile, I’m trying to frame the perfect shot — golden rays hitting the church, the Arizona sky on fire — but every time I lined it up, BOOM, some stranger wandered right into the frame. My photo roll looked less like “sacred architecture” and more like “Where’s Waldo: The Vacation Edition.” So there I was, muttering to myself like a lunatic: “Move. MOVE. You had 30 seconds to take your selfie, Brenda, MOVE.” I’d crouch, sidestep, pop up like a deranged meerkat, waiting for that split-second opening. Finally, miracle of miracles: the clouds lit up, everyone cleared for just one glorious second, and CLICK. I nailed it. A masterpiece. The church glowing, sky exploding in color, not a single tourist in sight. Then I looked closer. Front and center, silhouetted perfectly in my frame… the ice cream kid. Arms outstretched, cone dripping, looking like he was praising the Lord of Dairy. So yes, I got the shot. Just not the holy one I had planned.