246 Sides To A Story

I was trundling along a street in Jerusalem, dripping with sweat from the fierce Israel sun. Gross. It was a rough neighborhood, no charm here. Lots of garages and other things like garages… light industry kind of stuff but all old and grungy. I was looking for an art gallery I noticed on google maps and as with almost all grass-roots galleries, it would be in gungville for the low rents.

No Fun Vancouver

5 days a week I passed the dark man who never failed to move me as few street people have, and he was most clearly a member of that tribe. He sat under the Burrard St. bridge on a chair in the community garden, leaning his elbows on his thighs looking down at the ground…