I went downtown to take the photos. Boarded-up store fronts. Decaying wheat paste posters touting the hot new movie of last year. It was so quiet, nobody around, I half-expected to see a tumbleweed blow through.
The one place teaming with life, sad to say, was the liquor store--the only place open on the whole block. Men hung out in front on the corner. Children ran in, then rushed out, clutching a small bag of candy.
I started taking pictures.
I photographed winos sleeping on a bus stop bench, children kicking a can down the street and a family living in their car, the mother using an old wash clothe to wipe the dirt off her daughter's face.
I lost track of time. I was in a zone. The kind of zone where all that matters is the picture, the art. It's just like when I'm painting. My mind, my whole being, focused on the canvas. What shapes are hidden in it? What colors?
"Excuse me?" said the homeless woman.
I lowered my camera.
"Yes, ma'am?" I said. "Can I help you?"
"I... uh... photographers pay their models, don't they?"
"I guess they do."
"You took pictures of me and my kids."
"Yes."
"I was wondering... I wouldn't ask for myself... it's just that my kids haven't... I mean..."
She was younger than me and she and her kids were living in a beat up old car.
I had a chapstick, a stick of gum and 30 bucks in my pocket. "How about discussing your fees over dinner?" I asked.
She looked at me with surprise then suspicion then hunger in her eyes. "Yes, thank you."
The two of us rounded up her kids and went to a Chinese place two blocks down.
