I go through fits of insomnia. No matter what I do, I simply can't sleep. Sometimes sleep will come but within 60-90 minutes I'll be wide awake, staring at a ceiling I don't really care to stare at.
Last weekend was one of those times.
The sun began its ascent. I felt restless as the light illuminated the grease of the Hollywood horizon. The restlessness comes and goes too.
At its worse I feel like grabbing a shotgun and going for the cure.
This particular morning I borrowed Gena's camera instead and headed out my door towards the morning.
I followed the sidewalk to the rural area below the Griffith Observatory. It is some sort of weird park. But like everything in Hollywood, it feels subnormal.
My original plan was to take pictures of the sun. I'm not sure why, it's a dumb thing to take pictures of, but that was my goal.
Instead I stumbled upon two homeless guys waking to the crushing daylight.
They seemed nice enough so I talked to them. We talked about weed and homelessness. Capturing genuine people on film is on of my hobbies. They were nice enough to oblige.
Down farther I found two more homeless men sitting on a blanket in the grass. A tent was constructed behind them like some sort of warm weather igloo. I explained the same sentiment about my desire to photograph them. They obliged also.
The guys I met that morning treated me like a human being. Something I have not experienced much when meeting "literary" people.
Some like to treat the homeless like an undesired plague. I never understand why. They have the same beating heart the rest of us do.
The only designation I see is alive or dead; anything else is ego.