All Great Things . . .

Black and White Homeless Photography

Out in the Cold

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9 thoughts on “All Great Things . . .

    • Shot from inside a city bus.

      It was bitterly cold that day. I have other pictures of this guy. I’ve watched him panhandle from this spot in all seasons but this is one that really shows what he goes through to survive.

      To put it very delicately, he doesn’t have what it takes to convince most employers to hire him so this is just about all he has left.

  1. I grew up without seeing a single beggar. The world is starting to have problems and I wonder if it is possible to solve it peaceful. I feel a lot of concern for the future.

    • I am perceiving an increase in societal insensitivity toward those in need but perception isn’t necessarily reality. I find myself questioning if there is a growing disregard for one another or is the world just as cold and selfish as it has always been?

      Is there a way to quantify it.

      There’s no shortage of organizations that are established to help people but there never seems to be enough human or monetary resources to sustain those organizations. Those who don’t receive the help they desperately need, whether they realize they need it or not, are doomed to wither and die in the streets.

      How do we fix this?

      • It’s a difficult question.
        One can not give money to anyone you see on the streets. We have here how many Roma anytime begging. They sit 20-30 m apart. They are from other countries, and more and more streams to. It’s not easy to take care of other poor countries. Difficult question. And could be debated long and hard.

  2. Might seem strange to say but I worry when I don’t see the regulars while hopeful they might be somewhere safe at last . . . . then they’re back and at least I know they are still alive!

    • Yes, there are some in this town that I’ve noticed haven’t been around for quite a while, and I’m worried if they’re okay.

      There was one man in particular that I used to see walking all over Lower Hamilton, and sometimes up on the mountain who seemed to have schizophrenia. He was Caucasian, had bushy white hair, a thick white mustache and goatee, wore thick rimmed glasses and tattered lab coats. I used to call him “The Professor”. He’d frequently walk straight into busy oncoming traffic engaged in in-depth dialogue with himself. I haven’t seen him in a couple years now, and I wonder what has happened to him.

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