Good morning Raleigh.
A drive-by shooting happens in an instant but the memory pierces you forever. And in that forever, the instant drags its heavy feet towards infinity. What was once a flash becomes a slow dawn rising, and at this point you're either a vampire or on your last day before a long jail sentence.
Welcome to the morning after. The drive-by becomes a great starting point for some pretentious, born-again blog entry while you smoke your own ashes. There's no more reason for a minor memory, for a flash to (enter mixed metaphor) ruin the entire roll.
Sure, a couple of pictures might have been affected, but I'll be selling them under a pseudonym and the pretense of a new art form. I'll claim they were carefully rendered and exposed just long enough, etc, etc. At that point I'll drop the guise and make millions off of a book claiming to be the sole surviving interview of a man whose true masterpiece was his deception. His art was actually the realization and self-manipulation of his 15 minute fame.
I'll use that as the dock for my writing career and dive. Who cares if the local kids push shopping carts off the edge for kicks? I'll dive in just the same.