Special Thanks To:
After a day of traveling aimlessly along Sunset Boulevard it was time to take a break. It had been a good day of harvesting cigarette butts. Joe had always felt it was his civic duty to help address this serious environmental problem by picking up this toxic waste. Now was the time to sit and enjoy the fruits of his labor. He watched for awhile the congestion of traffic and remembered the time he too lived that life…. but no more. The last few embers glowed at the end of the cigarette as Joe inhaled, and as the white smoke curled up in a spiral motion, he pressed lightly his shirt pocket to the fragment ends of tobacco to insure a reserve till morning. Taking the last drag the ashes glowed brighter and crackled as air passed through the cigarette and the smoke went deeply into his lungs. He dropped the butt on the concrete and stubbed it out in a rhythmical tapping of his right foot. How wonderful it would have been to have a cup of coffee to accompanied his cigarette break he thought. The sun had set, but he had decided to stay sitting on the bench and watch the world drive by and maybe have another cigarette.
Bob had the kind of face that would compel you to volunteer any loose change your pocket held without him ever asking for a handout. His home consisted of a metal shopping cart supported by well-worn wheels, two paper bags, an old plastic container of water and a rolled up gray blanket. The corner of Central Boulevard and Windsor Road in Glendale, California was where he called home. This move was a sage-like decision on Bob’s part since the Salvation Army was positioned across the street which provided food, clothing and care and half a block to his east was the Windsor Al-Anon club that furnished free coffee, occasional shelter and most importantly, some welcomed comradeship with fellow tribe members. 
It was up to you to get Bob talking since he was never known to initiate a conversation. His english was laced with a thick Yugoslavian accent and it was because of this that he was christened with the street name “Bob from Yugoslavia”. In his youth, he was trained as a pianist but as the years passed by his hands grew to be swollen and arthritic which made tying his shoes or buttoning his coat as painful as a Beethoven sonata. Bob’s private moments took place in a utility alley behind the Armenian market where he would seek refuge by smoking discarded cigarettes and watching reality slip away.
We had a very short history in our acquaintance but Bob from Yugoslavia became my navigational marker that signaled my return home from overseas. As strange as it may sound, it was comforting to see him sleeping under the tree, his tree, at the corner of Central and Windsor. One day, I noticed that the only thing holding his threadbare jeans together was the grim beneath him. I managed to sneak a pair of new levis and socks into one of his paper bags while he was napping under his tree. I couldn’t help but watch from a distance to witness Bob’s reaction to his good fortune; he proudly held the trousers up to the sky with a toothless smile and turned to look around as if he would find a magical garment fairy. The following day I expected to see him wearing the new pants but to my surprise he was wearing the same grubby jeans. Bob had traded the jeans and socks for two packs of Marlboro cigarettes to a local gardener.
I asked Bob one day, “If you were to write a letter to God and be guaranteed that God would read your letter, what would be your the first sentence?” He looked up and spoke as expressively with his eyes as with his words, “God keep me warm and never let me get cold again”
We continued our brief interludes over the years until one day conspicuously absent from the corner was Bob and his shopping cart. A member of the Al-Anon club told me that Bob had peacefully passed away underneath his tree while napping. I can only hope it was on a warm sunny California day.
Bob’s tree.
There is something unique about Southern California light. Morning light is too short for the gold, midday leaves the gentle colors washed away, but at sunset when the blossoms close the alluring shades of light are flushed with an apricot tint with a lovely hue of lilac and pastels colors are reborn – or maybe it’s just the smog.
I don’t buy prints from fellow photographers, but while reading the Huffington Post I came across this article titled; 
Photo Series Captures The ‘Beauty In Every Line’ On The Faces Of LA’s Homeless. There is no better way to describe my reaction to those images then to say “Impact”. I stopped and gave my full attention to this photographic essay of black and white images named “The Elders”. Photographer and artist Aimee Boschet had captured the humanity and dignity of homeless people in America. I didn’t just look at Aimee’s work, I studied it, and absorbed every face. When I came across image number ten of an elderly black man in a straw hat I was gobsmacked.
33% to 50% are female. Men make up about 75% of the single population.
About 42% to 77% do not receive public benefits to which they are entitled.
20% to 43% are in families, typically headed by a single mother.
An estimated 20% are physically disabled.
41% of adults were employed within last year.
16% to 20% of adults are employed.
About 25% are mentally ill.
As children, 27% lived in foster care or group homes; 25% were physically or sexually abused
“Sitting here in La, La, Land I can see how you would believe that a gluten free diet and drinking green veggie smoothes is the answer to all your worldly woes. It’s a lie sweetheart, what really works in this world is a pack of Marlboro red, a cup of coffee and a buttermilk donut. Listen sunshine, there is no guarantees in life, this is it, this is all you get. Honey, you and I are living in a temporary parking lot between Nativity Lane and Sunset Boulevard.”
There is a great stillness in the sand and her sights and sounds are tastefully presented in an easy tempo to our senses. Long endless miles of sand dunes and scorching heat, this is the image one has in mind when one thinks of the Sahara.With the reputation for the hottest place on earth, temperatures can reaching up to 57.7 degree Celsius (135.8 degree F). Which makes working conditions uncomfortable and first degree buns common. I relished in shooting midday, capturing waves of heat rising from the scorching sand and apparitions of lakes beyond our reach. My camera would get so hot to the touch I’d soak my keffiyeh with water and wrap it around the camera to keep it cool. I learn to do this when I first came to the Sahara and rested my cheek on the side of the camera while looking through the viewfinder. My face burned with such intensity that for a couple of days I had one large red rosy cheek. From that first experience I learned to have long sleeve shirts, long pants, a hat and a keffiyeh in my kit.
Our bodies are about two thirds water and when we get dehydrated, it means that amount of water in our body has dropped below the level needed for normal body function. What is uncanny, is that it’s so hot sweat will evaporates before leaving a wet stain on clothing so drinking water at interval (even if you don’t feel thirty) is essential. Drinking to much water will washes away the electrolytes which is why I carry powder electrolyte supplements in my pack. In spite of all the discomfort the Sahara desert is my favorite place to work. The Sahara’s is one place on earth where all men become brothers to survive her embrace.
A silence so great that I can hear the earth breathing, I have found my Atlantis.
“I’m not sure if it the zest for life that I have or just the carbonation… my friends say that I have a bubbly personality. Oh geez ! People that say you have a bubbly personality… chances are you’re not attractive. I don’t think I’m ugly, I have a great smile, good hair, a positive attitude and I’m a Gemini. Did you know that we Gemini’s are gentle, affectionate, curious, adaptable, with an ability to learn quickly and exchange ideas openly. The downside of being a Gemini is nervousness and indecisive….wait a minute, indecisive…Coca-Cola or Pepsi ? Oh ! it’s not important. The only thing I don’t like about being a soda jerk is the paper hats. I mean they tear easily after you sweat and they never fit right. I don’t throw my paper hat’s away I keep them and make origami zebra’s..you know, the strips on the hat and all. Origami zebras are more difficult to fold than origami cranes. My paper hats are perfect for folding for zebras. It took me forever to get the lines of zebra stripes vertical and not horizontal. My zebras reminds me of the old adage: Not everything is black-or-white, or in my case red and white. The world isn’t black-or-white in the zebras world either. I once read that the symbolic meaning of zebras are the masters of balance, a symbol for individuality, the spiritual significance of knowing yourself, and the magic of illusion. So, I may have a bubbly personality and be optimistic by nature but don’t judge me by my stripes, remember I’m a Gemini.”
“My legs are killing me and I hate these fuck’ing crutches, I’m sick and tired of this bullshit man !
Where the fuck did my life go?
Believe it or not, I was young man once, wild hair and just fuck’ing crazy at times, but that was when I was a young man. I stole motorcycles, drank beer, and howled at the moon.
I was a chick magnet seducing them like bees to a honey pot, I was the stud, brash and brazen, but that was when I was young man.
I smoked Marlboro Red’s and worn button fly Levi’s jeans and combed my hair with Brylcreem.
I had a need for speed with asphalt scares to prove it, but that was when I was a young man once.
I sacked grocery at Safeway and bought my first car, a 49 Ford. It was my Hot Rod with stolen Baby Moon Hubcaps, Roll-and-Tuck black leather seats and a Hurst shifter topped with a pool hall 8 ball…do you want to drag and hear my glass-packs?
I was reckless and insane at times but beer was my friend when times got tough.
Let me tell you this, I never wore a watch because I had all the time in the world, but now as I grew older or should I say when my body grew older. I lost some abilities to do as I please.
But deep within me is a spirit that is harum-scarum and ready to fight…. even if it’s with the aid of these damn crutches. I was a young man once full of piss and vinegar.
My advise to you, find your speed, maintain your velocity, keeping it up and keep it consistent my friends.”
Exposure and Other Worldly Morsels 