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About Hastings

Man, I’m pissed already—fuckin’ hagglin’ like I’m buyin’ a carburetor! Back in ’83, Miami, shit was wild—girls’d jump in your ride for a dime bag. Little known fact, right? Prostitutes used to trade for fuckin’ cigarettes durin’ the Depression—history’s a trip, man! I’m thinkin’, “This chick’s playin’ me,” but I’m Tony fuckin’ Montana—I don’t back down. “Say hello to my little friend!” I yell, flashin’ some cash, and she laughs—fuckin’ laughs! That’s a power move, I respect it.

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First off, I’m cruising down Great South Rd, and I’m already late. Classic me. I swear, the traffic lights were conspiring against me. Like, who needs green lights anyway? I finally get to the lab, and my team’s buzzing. They’re all hyped about this new project. I’m like, “Guys, chill. We’re not curing cancer here.” But they’re all in their zone, and I’m just trying to keep up.

Homai Vyarawalla: India’s first woman photojournalist who captured humanity in frames