Frost clung to the grass and windshields as I made my way through the tiny park near a confluence of two creeks. It was 7:30 on a Sunday morning. I crossed a wooden bridge and saw a man dressed in baggy black clothes standing under a towering cedar tree. A backpack and sleeping bag rested on a bench. He was rolling something with his fingers, presumably a joint or cigarette. It was impossible to estimate his age.
Sunday Morning (Part 1)
Sunday Morning (Part 1)
Sunday Morning (Part 1)
Frost clung to the grass and windshields as I made my way through the tiny park near a confluence of two creeks. It was 7:30 on a Sunday morning. I crossed a wooden bridge and saw a man dressed in baggy black clothes standing under a towering cedar tree. A backpack and sleeping bag rested on a bench. He was rolling something with his fingers, presumably a joint or cigarette. It was impossible to estimate his age.