It has taken me since Sunday to be able to upload this image, this is another homeless man called Peter, I had photographed him many years before, 2007 to be exact, the year I first picked up a DSLR.
I was making my back to the car with my wife when I heard a penny whistle being played, I thought it has been too long to be him but it was. Time has not been kind to him, being on the streets has really taken its toll, he has aged more like twenty years not six, I sat to speak with him as he made roll ups with the cigarette butts he had collected from the pavements, other peoples casts off. He was wearing military fatigues as he was way back, now though they were well worn, I noticed his hands as he played with the tobacco and papers, you can see what the time he has spent on the streets has done, swollen, skin cracked and dirt ingrained.
We spoke for a while, every now and then he was approached by other homeless people that seemed to be faring better than him, I asked if he knew them all, he told me he looked after them all, once again people from the streets caring for people from the streets.
As I said my goodbyes I got up to leave, I turned to see him light up his cigarette and the crowds of shoppers walk by again. That's when I felt the anger, my bipolar mania manifests itself not in a state of adrenalin rushes but in rage, dark anger that I sometimes struggle to control, as I watched him once again being ignored by the masses carrying goods they wanted but probably didn't need it began to surge. The only way to control it was to clench my fist and push my nails hard into the flesh of my palms until the pain gave my mind another focus but as always after the mania comes the downward spiral. I spent two very sleepless nights with this on my mind.
My only conclusion, we are all broken.