after working late one night in june i walked through downtown over to seymour st. to board the east bound #20 victoria.

i was reading a heartbreaking work of staggering genius (yes that is actually the title). this particular stage of the book i was quite into and enjoying and so i was in another place entirely when after several minutes aboard, the bus crossed from west hastings over to east hastings st. now the #20 at this time of night is not exactly an example of sanity and composure and i am quite accustomed to the circus that it becomes over the course of the hastings strip. however, this evening was different.

ever been to the funky winker beans pub? i hear they have karaoke. by the way that's right next door to this place: [link] [link]

anyway. from the back of the bus i can hear some awful commotion, screaming and confrontation (and other inhuman noises) from the front which i think nothing of because it is really so normal. i guess she got bored of the passengers toward the front or simply noticed that i was sitting alone at the back. but this woman approaches, slowly clopping up the aisle in gigantic construction boots stuff with newspapers and without laces. she's wearing no pants. in fact, her pants are folded overtop of her forearm along with more newspapers covered in blood. she's wearing a very long (faded) black t-shirt and her mind is obviously way farther away than mine is at this point.

she sits directly across from me at the back of the bus and wastes no time at all. what i heard was a completely uninhibited, drug induced stream of conciousness. and she's not quiet about it either. i was in fact in awe, having the chance to listen to where her mind was going. bitching the government. talking shit about thugs. dropping names (that meant nothing to me). anything she could think of and making absolutely no sense. she was screaming about the LAPD, talking about shotguns and paddywagons followed up by an apologetic confession of how "fucking doped up" she was. right in my face while at the same time not directing anything to me at all persenally.

when the bus rounded the corner from hastings to commerical drive i finally closed the pages of my book and slid it into my bag. while she removed her boots i pulled my camera out of my bag and began to shoot as she pointed out to me the marks and scars on her legs, telling me the stories of how they got there and who gave them to her.

it made me feel like shit in all honesty. i really have no editorial comment to add. i think the images speak for themselves.

i have included every shot here. they are only negative scans unfortunately, but i will hope to print them soon.

when i got off the bus at 1st avenue i got one last frame from the sidewalk.