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08.04.2013

Logan Circle

On a crystal day like this, Philadelphia doesn’t need air conditioning. Parking is free and available, and the crystal addict bends in the rainbow-colored fountain mist over the improvised cigarette. He rolls salvaged tobacco into recycled tissue. His narrow fingers tremble. Next to him sits in a diaphanous plastic his garbage pick: two bags of bitten slices of whole-wheat bread from a nearby restaurant. Hiding my fascination with his diet I bend over and explain the reason of my intrusion: I want to paint his portrait. His methamphetamine affected smile is undented, but his attention is fractured. I take a seat next to him on the bench and say that I will pay him two dollars for about thirty minutes of his time. Short-lived interest sparks in his crystal eyes, “What’s that?” “I will pay you two dollars if you allow me to paint your portrait. It will take about thirty minutes of your time…” He shakes his head, “Not interested. Thank you, though.” I look at his young face. He must be Philip’s age; he even resembles my son’s friend. I say, “Maybe you reconsider… you have a good face for painting,” but he shakes his head again.  The flow of mutual sympathy runs between us, and he thanks me again. But I paint him anyway; I paint him in my memory and carry it home to spill out. On this crystal day I don’t want to think of his future. I want to remember his shy speckled face crowned with burning-red hair. What a pity; so young and capable! Why choose dependence over freedom? But it is easy to fall a slave in the world where only markets seem to be free.