Monday, 28 November 2005 | Delivery

On my way home tonight I walked past this man (the one in the middle), standing on the popular corner, where people in my neighborhood hang out for hours, sometimes. I often run into people I've photographed, and most of the time they don't recognize me, or at least they don't acknowledge me. I'm kind of glad they don't, although it makes me feel a hint of spy-guilt.

This man was no exception, but this time I did something different. I ran inside my apartment, printed two photos for him, and ran back out to where he'd been standing. Since I'd first spotted him, another man from the photo (the one to his left) had joined him (lucky!), and I held out the pictures for them to see.

Neither of them spoke English, so they spoke to me in Spanish. I don't speak Spanish, so I spoke to them in English. We had a brief conversation like that, talking nonsense and nodding and pointing a lot, and maybe I'm being optimistic, but I think we understood each other, thanks in part to the visual aides in my hand. Or I guess what I mean is, if we didn't understand each other, no one seemed to realize it.