On a crisp February morning, I walked from my apartment, in the Roosevelt neighborhood, through the underpass, to the bus stop on Weedin Place Northeast. Steam was rising as the sun swept the dew off the concrete and I locked eyes with a woman who had been sleeping in a solo encampment under I-5. Situated between the concrete pillars and the dense brush, the camp was surrounded by shopping carts, relying on the four lanes of I-5 North to shield it from the rain. The woman sat up in her sleeping bag and lit a cigarette. I smiled and said, “Good morning.” as the cigarette smoke met the steam. Her smile uncoiled as she waved back. It was innocuous and mundane, just two neighbors saying good morning, but that moment has stayed with me for years.
Full article published in Arcade Magazine