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I was heading back to the tour bus when i saw a black cat run across an alleyway and scurry like a rat up to this gentleman.He was sitting against a wall listening to music.The cat had run up to him and was rubbing up against his leg for some affection ( or maybe begging for food ).We both interrupted him,one for love,one for a photo.He didn’t look that down and out except his weight but he said he was.I am sure he was,but he did have some nice chains and a iPod.This is that moment.

We hung out for a bit outside this institution shooting photos.I asked him if anybody inside would want me to take their picture and he said “You wanna come in?” I jumped at the chance but as we were heading deep down a hallway I was stopped by the guard/staff.I tried like hell to push past the red tape but it was government run and I’ve run into this situation enough to know I was going nowhere fast.Edger gave me a grin like “Well kid,we almost made it" 

He told me he wasn’t homeless he was just an outsider.He sleeps outside.I found that somehow easier on the my heart but i know it doesnt make it easier on his life.It quite possibly is just a way to hold on to that last slice of pride or his was of saying he hasn’t given up.The numbers on the wall behind him speak for themselves.

Her name was Lonne.If you read my Leica blog ( http://blog.leica-camera.com/photographers/interviews/nikki-sixx-one-step-up-from-the-abyss-part-1/ ) you know her story.If not you may wanna check it out.Somehow those dealt the devils hand seem to have an angels heart.

I was in Edmonton Canada on tour.I had part of a day to myself so I headed down by the missions.I ran into this gentleman but he was flat on his back almost out cold.I was shooting around him when he sorta propped himself up and said “Do you wanna take my picture?”

I said of course and handed him a fast $20.I only took a few pictures.I didn’t need more.He was mangled and in a lot of pain,both emotionally and physically.I asked him if he liked it in Edmonton trying to find something positive to end our moment together with and he said “You mean Deadmonton?”..Then said HELL NO…I understand why…

Sherry was having fun in spite of the hardship that lay before her as the sun fell and the cold set in.Sherry was homeless.As i was talking to her she laughed when I told her I liked her smile.She said “Even without my teeth?”. I said yes,even without your teeth..She then went on to grab her breasts and told me she loves her che che’s..We both laughed out loud.Somewhere in all the grey she found some color.Somewhere in all that has happened in her life she still finds joy.We could learn a thing or two from Sherry.

It was a Sunday in Montreal.It was rainy and cold. We decided to go down a few back alleyways but to be honest nobody was really around.Magic happens for god knows what reason in photography but all of a sudden I saw Sue standing by this doorway and quickly pulled the car over.She was small,smaller than expected.She spoke broken english with a heavy French accent.The first words were “I am just trying to get money for my eye surgery”.Her left eye was running pretty bad and she kept having to wipe away the fluid with a dirty rag.I knew she was working but I really didn’t understand why she felt the need to explain herself to a complete stranger holding a camera,but then it hit me.It was mothers day and as I raised my camera I noticed the number on the wall was also my birthday.My heart began to beat a bit faster as I pushed the shutter.Did she have a mothers guilt? And me a sons remorse? Too many feelings to explain from my childhood.I gave her some money and she smiled.I never really regained my composer.I went back to the hotel and called my mom.I never told her I took the saddest photo of a prostitute (and probable mom) on mothers day.I don’t know why this one hit so hard.But it did.

It was like a beacon perched high high above where people were sleeping on the street below.Some people strolled by not noticing the sign above or the people holding signs asking for a little help..The light was perfect for such an imperfect moment.There are sign’s everywhere if you just open your eyes.

The story on his face stopped me dead in my tracks.I walked up slow and bent down low to be eye to eye with him out of respect.He was sitting on a stump.I introduced myself and he answered back with"Its nice to meet you,my name is Mack". I asked him how long he had been on the street’s and he answered fast,10 years.I have heard that before and too be honest with you i cant even comprehend that harrowing hell for a night much less 10 years.I had one more question,he answered hard and it hurt.I said “Do you think you’ll ever get out?” and he looked directly into the lens and said one word “Never”.This is that moment.Mack is First Nation indian.Winnipeg,Canada.

His name is Joe.There was nothing to laugh about considering his whereabouts in the part of town we both stood.Yet as the brisk morning slipped into an afternoon he had somehow found the perfect wall to warm himself.Nothing daunting or horrific jumped out at me when i saw Joe.It was actually the opposite.He was smiling with his head back.Almost like he was soaking up the good life.Next to where he was standing was a black glass window reflecting off even more sunshine.Sometimes your perspective is your reality.

I met Patrick in Winnipeg. He was sitting outside the shelter that was about to serve up a limited yet hot meal.He was alone but didn’t give off the vibe of a grifter nor a man looking for a hand out. He was down and out for sure and I can only imagine the things he has seen judging from the story on his face. Patrick is First Nation Indian.Patrick was kind.Why are the ones with less more generous than people who seemingly have it all. Life is fucked up sometimes.

Sometime after midnight outside Red Square.Everybody needs a helping hand.