She called me over and asked me if I could take her photo. The world has a strange way of connecting people, even if these are only spontaneous instances that last for a few seconds. I’m glad for these pops in the pan.
Sometime around 2009. I’m guessing here.
The Santee Alley or “The Allies” in downtown offer a glimpse into what it’s like to shop in Tijuana. Like TJ prices can be negotiated. Also like TJ people want to push their way to the best prices. The mother with the baby and stroller, well that’s her tool to clear a path. Most men saunter with their family, a look of worry on their face – ‘how much will this cost me?’ ‘que tanto’ and so on. These allies are clean compared to TJ. Authenticity is only a word.
Enorgullecida – Which is not fair, because this man said very little. I drove by and noticed him sitting on the bench, stoic, like a statue. When I asked for his photo he nodded. I say enorgullecida, meaning arrogant, because I was a bit presumptuous in thinking that everyone likes getting their photo taken. He was the caballero.
Somewhere in Hollywood, with his chess board, his back pack and that collection of Tai Chi books, dog eared, always contemplating the soul and the souls of others, like this great big interconnected all soul that he’s sure he’s seeing at a movie theater once. He tells me that I’m a stranger the first time I meet him, back in 2008, on my birthday, right on the street and I say, I’m a stranger, sure, but I’ll make you into a picture.
One of those days, where the concrete is warm and comforting, when one’s bones ache, it’s best to sit down for a moment and reflect on the day’s agenda. Or Two sleeping guys in the Highland Park Neighborhood. Two birds with one stone: post all the sleeping guys into one post. Top is digital and the bottom is film. No, the top guy isn’t a robot. Nikon D80 and Nikon N2020.
Obviously this is cropped. Obviously. Not something I’m proud of, but I couldn’t pass this up. She was pushing her cart in the rain, her eyes half-closed, the wind rustling her bags and then she stopped to take a drag from her chiva, her cigarillo, a brown blunt tugged in her sweater. I was cradling my camera in my jacket so it wouldn’t get wet.