Excerpt from accompanying article: Wilson and Broadway, a raw intersection of unreal reality. Unlike the vivid, almost carnival like atmosphere of some skidrow areas, this part of town gently pulsates with a sort of pastel coldness that seems to go by unrecognized, except by regulars of the area.
Prior to gettting an assignment to photograph "the mood of the street," Wilson and Broadway meant nothing more to me than one of thousands of intersections that I have whizzed by on my way to somewhere else. This time my eyes were forced to see what they hadn't seen before.
I didn't have my bags, I didn't have a ticket, but I went on a trip! The story is the same old skidrow rerun. But the funk doesn't spew out at you; it oozes out until you're literally wading in it.
Strewn about the streets, amid commuters, children and folks from the various stores, there are wretched carbon-coby human beings, some strugging to get one more handout, enough to cop a little taste -- bottled happiness.
The night scene grabbed me about the same, but it nevertheless had a somewhat different mood. It seemed more [unclear]. Obviously, hip neighborhood youngsters, some no older than 10 or 11, joked with those carbon-copy cats, pitching pennies with them.
Nearby in a dark alley a chap found a perch between garbage cans, his bottle of happiness drained. It's a something-else set.
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