"Yo, wait up!"
"Yeah?"
"You got yo credentials?"
"Huh?"
"You a professional? Where's yo credentials?"
"No I'm a student. I don't have credentials."
"You got balls?"
"Yep."
"Those yo credentials."
"Gotcha."
"You respect that clit?"
"Huh? I'm going to miss my train."
"Alright. You go catch that BART."
"Cool. One love, man. (One Love? What the hell was I thinking? Too much Bob Marley.)"
This was the conversation that occurred after I took this photograph (slightly abridged). At the beginning of this conversation he shook my hand which was cool, but he would not let go of my hand throughout the duration of the conversation (which wasn't so much a conversation as it was drunken verbal dribble from both of us). He had hands that were big enough to grab my entire hand and they felt like the bottom of a foot, smooth, calloused but solid. When I finally broke away from his crackhead-fu grip, I ran as fast as I could down the steps of the BART station and as I was running, I could hear the guy mutter to himself, "Square-ass motherfucker." A little scary but overall a great experience. This was the image that I showed as my Decisive Moment photograph.
The night that picture was taken seemed like it would have just been our typical Saturday night bout of drunken debauchery but turned in to a night of broken feet, boulder rolling, Jameson and gingers, strange blue-shirted drunkards playing grab-ass while listening to a bad wannabe grunge band, meeting middle-aged cougars and unstable crackheads with pink amps, enhancing pot highs by soaking in a hot tub in our underwear and strange gyro-operated ceiling fans that spin vertically instead of horizontally.
Here are some other photos that I took for this Decisive Moment project.
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