As day turns to dusk and the street lamps begin to flicker, these sidewalks are pounded by an invisible walk of life. He navigates the concrete maze with ferocious intensity, ducking in and out of alleyways, innocence stripped from his face, honesty drained from his soul. He's the one who deceives the naïve pedestrian and intimidates the urban sophisticate. His is the culture of night. It's a darkness that exists to intrigue my curiosity and defy my comprehension.
On occasion, he lets me get close enough to discover what it is that he wants, and exactly what it is that he needs. He hides in the doorway of an abandoned storefront and offers to sell me a chemical romance. He crosses the street to see if I might peddle a potion to feed his love. He approaches me in the bus shelter to offer himself up as the available merchandise. His essence is strangely charming under the cool blue glow of the moon. Yet his eyes are incredibly lonely and dark.
He takes on whatever persona he feels is necessary to make it through the next moment. He clings to a prayer that he’ll make it through the next hour. And he’s damned if he’s blessed to see the morning light, because he knows he must endure the survival of another night.
I always decline his promise of sweet deals and discounted prices. However, I often wonder if he'd let me walk alongside him so I can experience the ride. A carnival of instantaneous pleasure and insatiable misery. Could I emulate his style? Could I imitate his stride? His stance? Could I learn to speak his language and be able to use every unfamiliar word in the right context? Could I survive in his world long enough to gain his trust? Would he confide every joy, pain, and heartbreak? Recall those precious childhood memories that turned him into the shadowy man who mystifies me? Would he accept me as one of his own? Or would I be ousted as a fraud before I get the chance to tell his story with the compassion that exists in me?
On the day I captured this shot, it was the guy in the striped shirt who caught my attention. Later when I sat down at my computer to review the series of frames featuring him, I noticed this one in which an older gentleman has stepped in front of me and steals the shot. Then I imagined that the guy in the striped shirt was looking over and watching an older version of himself in front of my lens.
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