It seems some days a trail of endless despair. Of dead ends.

Dear Anonymous,
It seems some days a trail of endless despair. Of dead ends. Of deep mental confusion and a collective abandonment of reason. Somehow a cog broken in the gears of cause and effect. Wandering and grasping and belonging nowhere.
Some days it feels weary. Never enough. Do you have more? They stole everything.
My backpack was taken...again.
Somedays eye contact seems impossible. The weight on the back of necks like a shackle, like a heavy pendulum that can no longer swing.
Do you have.
I need.
A wide mouthed insatiable maw.

The only place I can operate is in the moment.
And it's a dropperful of dirty water in a desert.
This is not a place easily marked out in progress. Or evolution.
Cold? Here's a coat. I have one today.
Here's a coffee card. I have one today.
I don't know about tomorrow. Do you?
Meanwhile as some hearts may soften on either side of an equation I cannot make sense of, the world and our human behaviours continue.
Ruthless.
Desperate. Loving.
And likely there will never be enough at the same time that there is plenty.

And you'll hear stories about one man, who is deeply familiar with these streets helping a couple new to the streets.

Dear Anonymous,

And you'll hear stories about one man, who is deeply familiar with these streets helping a couple new to the streets. The couple who were dismissed from the shelter, for whatever reason. He shows them the warmer spots to sleep. He panhandles enough money to take care of all of them last night.
The couple looks dazed. A bit besides themselves.
The sun is coming up. Hot coffee helps.

It's a little bit like Filene's Basement on the sidewalks some mornings with clothing flying in and out of bins.

Dear Anonymous,
It's a little bit like Filene's Basement on the sidewalks some mornings with clothing flying in and out of bins. Trying to find something that fits this 3XL guy and then a snug enough hoodie for this Medium guy. Sometimes it works; sometimes it doesn't. The socks were depleted today. No hand warmers available, or gloves ,or mittens. Things come and go rapid fire. They are always disappointed when the homemade coffee cake is gone. And it is always gone sooner than some arrive.
A hot cup of coffee remains the standard request. As are socks.
This is Todd. Todd has given me permission to photograph him for years. He astounded me years ago when he remembered my name (I am terrible at remembering names) and greeted me on the street the day he left the hospital after spinal surgery.
Today he has a smile. I cautiously share that he tells me he might have garnered housing. Maybe. All fingers crossed and everything else that can cross.He seemed enthusiastic and appreciative of his caseworkers.
He tells me he's been on the street for the better part of 10 years.

There is one fellow I have seen each time I visit who darts through the crowds...

Dear Anonymous,
This is from Oaxaca, Mexico. There is one fellow I have seen each time I visit who darts through the crowds, always asking for food. For money. Which is unusual here in my experience. He threads himself in from the periphery. I have seen wedding planners try and shoo him away from the doors of the cathedral when the big wedding ceremony is just ending, to get him out of the picture, out of the event...but he slips into the dark coolness of the spacious sanctuary, dirty and tattered, as the well clad wedding guests file by him toasting the newlyweds with shots of mezcal. Not belonging here. Not belonging there. I don't know his story at all. But it reminds me of here in Portland, Maine. On a rainy, cold,blustery day like today when, if you are on the street, there are times when there are not many choices to get in to be dry or stay dry. And I never know the whole story here either. Deprivation. Need. Desperation. Hurt. They are all characters in the untold story.
Mike says this morning as we stand drenched in the downpour, 'Out here there's all kinds. Some really kind people and some real a**holes. Just like anywheres else....'
People out to take advantage. Hustlers. Liars. Thieves. Deplorable behaviours. And the kindness of saints.
He walks the city after midnight and accompanies a man who just lost a brother in the military. They walk. They talk. He buys Mike cigarettes and they part ways. To a smoker with no cash this is a dream come true.

He leans in, over his bicycle handlebars and says...

Dear Anonymous,

He leans in, over his bicycle handlebars and says,
'They know my name up at the coffee shop. And I like that.'

Chris.

And I, who cannot remember names worth s**t, remembered his last name.
We both were a bit startled. We both smiled.
He says something like 'Get it. girl.'
And I laugh.

He's soiled again. Won't go to the doctor.

Dear Anonymous,
He's soiled again. Won't go to the doctor. 'Everyone in my family goes to the doctor comes home dead.'
I am in no place to fight with that logic.
But I have dry pants for him.

Mike says,
'My night was SO bad, I NEED this today.' And he means delivering more toys. Toddler lego tables and bags of pieces and an assortment of dolls and Hotwheels and a little action figure one of his little buddies requested.
'He'll be so excited!'
He is organized and has a plan to distribute them.

One of them, often sited for being 'difficult', has upset the group by defecating in the 24 Hour ATM and depositing the waste in the deposit drawer. At least this is the story.
'Gives us homeless guys a bad name.'
Socks. Coffee cards. Good mornings. And bad.

Another man who is new to me and sort of embarrassed by wearing a donated barn coat with a white denim collar. It's all he has and is not ungrateful for it but asks,
'Can you help me out?'
A trade in on the coat and he's outfitted in a new lightweight down coat, a new hoodie, a clean tshirt and some beautiful donated shirts.
And he's back in action.

'Gosh. This turned my whole day around.'
Thanks Dear Anonymous.

I am stunned by the beauty in her vulnerability.

Dear Anonymous,
I know, though she gave me permission, she may not like this image. For me I am stunned by the beauty in her vulnerability. I share it because it helps describe the street. The tincture of Desperation and Resiliency. The tonic of survival.
Her wild beauty. Her difficulty. Her struggle. Her gratitude.
The impossible task of being ok when things may not be ok.
Shares that her grandfather was an Irish born boxer. She puts up her hands and lowers her head and dances the steps of a fighter in the ring.
'I was born trainin' in utero!'
Thank you Dear Anonymous for the coffee cards, socks, neck warmers and backpacks we could get to her because of you.

I had seen her in the back of the coffee shop and the guys told me she was there and may need a few things.

Dear Anonymous,
I had seen her in the back of the coffee shop and the guys told me she was there and may need a few things.
She was out all night. Luckily had a great coat from the resource center. But not much else. Says her backpack was stolen.
Thank you Dear Anonymous, we were able to set her up with a backpack filled with a blanket, socks, coffee card, personal hygiene products, neck warmer, jacket and scarf.
She requested tweezers and make up. Neither of which I have. But I'll keep my eyes open : )
She was grateful. Not that that's a prerequisite here, it's just that I want to share her appreciation.
Another young man is struggling with his feet. The guys surrounding him have a lot of empathy. Bad feet on the street is a recipe for agony. He's got huge blisters all around his heel and foot. The guys get it when we hand him extra socks. But the look in the young mans' eyes will stay with me. Haunt me. Nudge at me. It was a look of desperation. Nothing to veil his lostness. His woundedness. The look of an exhausted bird looking for a place to land and just can't find one. It was the look of hopelessness trying to convince itself all was not lost.

There is a woman who gathers backpacks for us. She does this honoring her daughter who spent time on the street.

Dear Anonymous,
There is a woman who gathers backpacks for us. Literally drops off 20 or so at a time. She does this honoring her daughter who spent time on the street. Who died of overdose this year. Thank you #maggiesmission. Those backpacks fly out of my car. Thank you.
Mike snagged this one this morning and showed us why....his first tattoo from age 13. A devil. And the backpack was a match.
He had been out all night. No bathrooms available. Sometimes things don't go so well. He needed a change of clothes when I arrived. Can you imagine?
Meanwhile socks. Socks. Socks.

His eyes have always spoken a story that may not be word ripe. That transcends the streets.

Dear Anonymous,
And another this morning of Tyler.
His eyes have always spoken a story that may not be word ripe. That transcends the streets.

Here he is again. Can't quite get enough of that smile. He is grateful. Appreciative. he is thanking YOU.

Dear Anonymous,
Here he is again. Can't quite get enough of that smile.
He is grateful. Appreciative. he is thanking YOU.

The streets were busy this morning and there must have been twelve guys waiting when I pulled up.

Dear Anonymous,
Just one more. The streets were busy this morning and there must have been twelve guys waiting when I pulled up. But I include this one for a reason.
He has just received this brand new camouflage hoodie. And it fits. And he likes it and he is looking all bad ass and wonderful and then he throws me this crab shot and we all laugh. We laugh. And laugh. And laugh.
A new hoodie. Dignity. Respect. It allows him to be a bit more human and connected not discounted quite as quickly. Not walked around as if he has a plague or worse, doesn't exist.
It allows at least this moment moving away from desperation instead of staring at it like a freight train headed your way.
Thank you Dear Anonymous.

When I show up this morning Mike runs over to tell me about the woman inside the coffee shop.

Dear Anonymous,

When I show up this morning Mike runs over to tell me about the woman inside the coffee shop. He is a little agitated. Upset about it.
Mike says:
'She was out here cryin', like really cryin' before they opened. She was so cold. So I was about to hand her my blanket and she said 'I can give you a blow job if I can have that blanket.'
I was like 'TAKE the blanket. We're all set.' So, please, can we please set her up with some stuff? I mean imagine the life she's leading that she thought she had to do that to get a blanket?'

We pack a backpack (thank you #maggiesmission) with new socks, a coat, personal hygiene products, hand warmers. A coffee card. Mike hands it to her. No strings attached.

She sits quietly by herself inside. All the guys giving her space. She has the new coat on her lap and wrapped around her legs. She is sipping a hot drink. A hand on the shoulder and 'You all set?' and she looks up fragile and translucent. Broken and crystal clear all at once. and she manages a sweet smile and an airy 'Thank you.'
Thank you Dear Anonymous. You think a coffee card can't save a life?

My car appears to have been hit with a spaghetti bomb.

Dear Anonymous,
My car appears to have been hit with a spaghetti bomb. There are strands of noodles and pockmarks of red sauce all over it.
This man shows up, and it is his way to move from tragic weeping to gregarious laughter; from being upright pushing his cart down the street to being on his back kicking his legs and arms up into the sky.
I find him spitting on my car.
Trying to remove the spaghetti splatters. He throws his lighter aside. Takes a drag from his cigarette and spits again. Then scrapes the car gently. He kneels down to get closer. I think he's got a future in detailing. He continues to spit and scrape successfully removing the mess. He wants to clean it for me.There is something devotional in his posture and his manner. He goes on to weep about his girlfriend with MS. He flushes with anger.
Then he softens and says 'It's love. And knowledge, this is.' as he continues to pick at the mess. Then he hesitates and says
'It's love.'
and rubs away the last of the stain.

The streets are full of despair. And... THIS.

Dear Anonymous,
The streets are full of despair. And... THIS. Two men who met on the floor of the shelter, sleeping within an inch of one another years ago. Ready to kill one another as the flailed about in their sleep. Two men I would NOT want to mess with. They are reminiscing this morning over their less than auspicious meeting...and about their enduring friendship.
Respect. Decency. Brotherly love. You name it. It was in the air.
Mike's friend? He will only take what he needs. No more. In his rich baritone voice says, when I offer him new socks: 'No, no,no,no. We need to leave this for the rest of the community who needs it more.'

Is this not the blessing I had always wanted?

Dear Anonymous,
He has been waiting this morning. Grateful for a coffee card. Excited for some clothing that fit. And he watches as folks come and go.
And then, quietly, almost a whisper says to me
'Ya' know , if you wanna' take a picture of me you can.'
Only he asks it like a question. Like maybe he doesn't know that this is my deepest honor and that when I see him framed up in the viewfinder I kinda' choke up. And then he smiles. Like this.
Is this not the blessing I had always wanted?

Mike is set up with a wheelie bag (thank you #maggiesmission) filled with toys and kids' backpacks to hand out at the shelter.

Dear Anonymous,
Mike is set up with a wheelie bag (thank you #maggiesmission) filled with toys and kids' backpacks to hand out at the shelter. He tells me he is going to try and get some photos of the kids receiving the toys, with permission. He has already asked and is aware that some families do not wish to be photographed.
He was soooo excited.
We've been trying to get dolls of color and dolls of women in careers. This one is a National Geographic explorer.
Hard to tell on this exchange who is happier. The kids? Mike? Me? Us? Dear anonymous's? A win-win-win-win-win.
There is a sub story here about the friction, at times, between the local homeless and the immigrant population. About race.
Enough to say that it's a big healing and profoundly unexpected gift for Mike, now Uncle Mikey, to hand a young black girl from Somalia a dark skinned Barbie doll. And everyone...EVERYONE...is smiling. This is a dream of Mike's. Thank you for helping make it happen.

Our buddy, Tyler. Looking fine. Upright. Polite.

Our buddy, Tyler. Looking fine. Upright. Polite. Still in his own apartment. Paying rent. A relief. Congratulations, Tyler.
And thank you Dear Anonymous for help with coffee cards and socks.

Planning on a delivery of toys to the family shelter on Saturday.

Dear Anonymous,
Planning on a delivery of toys to the family shelter on Saturday.
He shares,'The kids call me 'Uncle Mikey'. I asked the kids if I should deliver to a few of them or wait 'til the weekend when all the kids are there. They told me 'When ALL the kids are here!' That's what these little kids told me. When they are all there. So, I'm gonna listen to them.I told the parents who are all 'Gimme gimme gimme ‘ that it's 'Please may I....' and it's 'Thank you.' around here.'
A little bit of a prayer and blessing right there.
I little bit of the saint and sinner rubbing elbows within each of us.

He goes to great extent to be presentable.

Dear Anonymous,

He goes to great extent to be presentable. No small task when you are experiencing homelessness.
And he is kind. No small task when you are experiencing homelessness.
And he expresses gratitude. No small task...well. You get what I mean.
Coffee cards help. So do socks.
I sense he struggles.
And I apologize for having no more coffee cake.