One day I have to look at some of the older photos of my people. I recognize the people whom I have seen before, weather beaten and aged. Some like Coyote lift my spirits, connecting me to other old friends from the street, here and departed. I remember photographing him, but not his wife, a woman whom he said befriended Paul. He told me Paul was going to stay with them the night he died in the street, but never made it. Lots of people from the street look out for one another.
