I found Nick on the corner of 42nd and 5th. He was sitting cross legged, his head bowed down, his long wiry blond hair covering his face. Before I crouched down and started talking to him, I wasn’t actually sure if I was talking to a man or a woman. When he looked up and revealed his face, I saw that he was young, in his twenties.
Q: How are you?
A: I’m exhausted. From last night.
Q: Where did you sleep?
A: On the street.
Q: You don’t go to shelters?
A: I’ll never go to a shelter.
Q: How long have you been out here?
A: Since the winter?
Q: How long have you been homeless?
On and off since I was 14 years old.
Q: How did you become homeless?
A: My mom lost her place. I’d been in and out of foster homes. [Pause] I don’t want to talk about this anymore.
While I was sitting next to Nick a man on his way to work stepped over me and grunted, “Get out of the way.” A woman who seemed to know Nick stopped by to give him a sandwich and a cup of coffee (it’s the second cup in the picture). I wanted to ask her questions, ask her why she helps, but she was on her way to work, as well, and didn’t have time.
He didn’t want his picture taken but he was fine with the picture of his cup with money, the hot cup of coffee and his legs covered with a blanket. I showed Nick pictures of the other people I’ve met so that he would get a sense of the story I’m trying to put together and understand. He knew Steve and Nicky but otherwise had very little reaction to seeing their pictures.