Leadenhall Lean

Most people move through the city like they’re late for something.

Heads down. Pace set. Everything around them turns into background noise. Buildings become scenery. Pauses feel like mistakes. This moment sat outside all of that.

I noticed him because he wasn’t trying to vanish, and he wasn’t performing either.

Leaning back. Legs crossed. Relaxed, but switched on. Not waiting for anything in particular. Not rushing anywhere. He takes up space comfortably, the way people do when they know it well. The phone has his attention, but not fully. He could stand up and leave at any second. Or stay. Either way felt fine.

That balance is what held me.

Leadenhall does its part without saying much. Dark wood. Heavy glass. Solid, old, unmoved. The city showing its weight rather than its volume. He doesn’t push against it. He fits into it. The boots, the posture, the stillness. It all lands where it should.

This is the kind of street photography I’m drawn to now.

Nothing dramatic. Nothing staged. Just a moment that works because it’s left alone. I didn’t step in closer. I didn’t rush it. Interfering would have broken it. Some scenes don’t want to be taken. They just want to be noticed.

Black and white helps it drift out of the present. Without colour, it stops being about now and starts feeling familiar in a broader way. Someone leaning. Someone pausing. Someone briefly stepping out of the city’s current.

That choice matters.

This isn’t about loneliness or nostalgia. It’s about control. About choosing stillness in a place that keeps pushing you forward. About occupying a moment without explaining yourself.

That’s the work I want to make.

Images that don’t ask for attention.

Images that keep it, quietly.