"waiting, waiting, waiting... waiting for you to come along, waiting for you to hear my song".

jim morrison

broadway garage. his sax carried loud and strong.

jerry's home is around greenlake. he said, he didn't miss his old days, when he had a lot. now, he owns few things, like his crystal ball.

"i like my life now, but the loneliness is a bitch though..."

jerry.

city market fair. she said, they travel through the country and work odd jobs. he said that people take photos of them and seldom give a buck.

pouring his beer, he didn't see me.

gas station. i heard him say: "spare a change?" i kept walking and i heard him again: " you can't even do that!". after i paid for fuel, i put a dollar in the guitar case. he brightened and started playing.

he didn't say much. he gets his coffee from starbucks. he is a regular there.

i photographed him from my car, window down. when i got out, he said: "what if your legs were all fucked up, huh?!"

eastlake afternoon traffic rolling. his body by the building, ragdoll like, his head with a slight twist of amazement. i still think: "penny for his thoughts".

may 1st. 2006. seattle
"day without immigrants"
"estimates of the number of demonstrators ranged as high as 65.000".
the seattle times

for millions, it was a hopeful day.

i was relieved, as he was.... he didn't look at me, when i photographed him. maybe, he just didn't care.

warm, spring day. the tree casting shadows on the "transistor man", coins by his side and his hat in a perfect position.after i photographed him, i returned to take a look again. someone was already there, sitting down nearby. i asked, if he was ok, pointing at the man on the ground. the guy said:"yes, he is ok".

park near broadway. he was sleeping on top of the hill. his bundles around him and worn out shoes with holes. in front of him large vase with water. i decided to let him be, not photograph him at all, even though that vase was unusual. i sat down on lower part of the hill and started reading. he came over quite quickly and asked me, if i smoked. he gave me his tobacco to roll. we sat and smoked. he asked me, if i had a boyfriend. i said i was a lesbian and we kept smoking. i asked, if i could photograph him. he said: "sure". curly, pretty, grey hair. eyes blue and "quick". they changed focus all the time. he said, his name was mark. i used almost all his matches to lite my cigarette. only one was left. before i took off, i said i would be back with matches. he asked, if he could come home with me and eat. i went to broadway, got a roll and a book of matches. when i came back, he was sleeping again. i said: "mark". he took the roll and started eating fast. i put the book of matches on the grass. he said: "thank you".

spring sunday, arborethum park. a woman resting on her side, things folded under her head. she was facing the blossoming tree. she had a beach chair with her. it was a calm sunday afternoon and there were white petals on woman's shoe soles.

walter looked like a "big foot", matted hair- a bundle of it, dirty clothes, beers in a bag. he kept saying, he was from the midwest and that he was an alcoholic. someone gave him lots of bread. he wanted me to take it. i didn't. i asked him, if he would eat some sausage i had in a car. he said: "that would be good". he ate. i asked, if i could photograph him and he nodded. after few minutes cops came and asked for his id.i packed my gear and left.

downtown. i saw him by this wall of stones. i was anxious getting my camera out and he looked at me.i focused on the column and in fact i knew then, the shot was good with him faded. i photographed him once more when he kept walking along that wall made out of stones.