riding on the transit line
saving the planet
No matter how far away you stand your smoke still showers my face. I breathe in your stench as I sit on a cold metal bench made purposely uncomfortable out of iron slats. Homeless proof. Nothing a thick blanket couldn’t remedy. A sliver of the moon still hangs visible above me. The sun is rising in a thin soft yellow band across the horizon. It melts into the dark blue sky and sheds its light. The silhouettes of pedestrians move across the bridge. Old people push walkers, bicyclists pedal their bikes, mommies and daddies and little kids in a hurry. The half-awake masses stumbling to the starting gate.
Activity: Taking Public Transportation
Every Tuesday I jump on my bike and head down to the Light Rail Station, for a 30 mile trek across Denver to attend a Photojournalism class. I suspect the gentleman in the center of the frame might be an everyday rider.
Overheard on the light rail:
“I told that bitch I wasn’t flirting with her. She looked like a damn bird. I should of gave her some birdseed and put her in a cage. She was so fucking ugly. Then she called me fat, and I was like really? You don’t think I know already. I mean I take a shower everyday and I see my body. I mean c’mon man. I’ll straight up tell you dog, I weigh 258 pounds! Now what chu gotta say. Damn bird nose bitch!”
Wow. The Ubuntu is not flowing out of this kid. He was with a friend. I wonder if I should have said something? If I do though I better get ready for a fight and is it really worth it to get stabbed or beaten or shot for coming to the defense of a stranger? All I would have to say is,”hey man there’s ladies present” but obviously I already know their regard for women. I guess that’s why the world doesn’t change. We don’t speak up when we should. We ignore the ugly thing that is happening right in front of our face, put our head down and go on about living out lives. I feel guilty for letting it go. I am a part of the problem and that is a tough realization.
Note: The people depicted in the photo are not the actual conversation participants.
one brief encounter
I pointed to his pendant
he showed me the sky
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By Lisa Smith Molinari
Le frontiere, materiali o mentali, di calce e mattoni o simboliche, sono a volte dei campi di battaglia, ma sono anche dei workshop creativi dell'arte del vivere insieme, dei terreni in cui vengono gettati e germogliano (consapevolmente o meno) i semi di forme future di umanità. (Zygmunt Bauman)
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Brussels based, cat loving, shoe obsessed, photography lover
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