I know what you’re thinking, “James, when you see someone passed out between a cab and a van you should help them, not photograph their rock bottom” and I would even half agree with you. Truth is I put my camera away and helped drag him off the street and against a wall. People were calling the cops and Jayson and I kneeled next to him and asked if he could get in a cab, “yes, i think so” he slurred.
I get the cab. Jayson gets the drunk and this is where it all goes south. The cab is scream at me through his molases thick acent, “NO! NO! HE NO PAY! TOO DRUNK” and me, “Naw, mate this is my friend he is just tired, it’s fine” and the drunk, “FUCK YOU, I AM FINE, PARK SLOPE!” and Jayson, “Do you have any money? It would be best if you had some money” and the the cabbie, “NO GET HIM OUT, OUT!!”
And that’s when this guy who we found on the street, help avoid arrest and hospital and tried to get home does something weird. He wants to fight us. He honest to god is now feeling like we should pay for our goodwill and he has two fists and a fith of booze to help him do it.
I hand my bag off to a young lady with us and say, “Mate, you don’t want to do this, there are two of us and while I might not look like much, trust me, don’t do this to yourself” and to him running toward me now “FUCK YOU” and almost in slow motion Jayson kicks his feet out, and for a moment the drunk is high in the air, face contorted in fear and embarassment and I have to smile at the absurdity of it all. I am in $2,000 of clothes ducking the punches of a drunk man who I just tried to help, and I am smiling. Smiling that this city exists, smiling at my seemingly extrodinary talent at finding myself in these kinds of situations, and smile at Jayson’s near perfect Street Fighter move.
My fists stayed at my side, it just wasn’t worth it, and neither was he.
