uncreative title

As much as I find the annual Zombie Walk entertaining, I'm more intrigued by costumed people doing everyday things, like getting a craving for Doritos.

takeout

bet awards

The BET Hip Hop Awards were held for a third year in Atlanta, this time at the Civic Center. As much as I thought about going through the ringer trying to get a red carpet pass, I've found there are better photos to be made as a street rat.

I was wrong on that account as the security had barricaded the roads one block in every direction. There was no chance to even get remotely close to the action. I parked just off Ponce and walked the three blocks south toward downtown. At the fringes of the fence were the the wanna-be groupies and bored music fans hoping to get a glimpse of Atlanta's revered musicians.

I trotted about the perimeter and found nothing good. Guys tried to pass out their mixtapes and some girls were persuading the bouncers for a free pass. I wandered for about an hour as the crowd thinned, realizing no celebs were going to arrive at the barricades. There was a crowd but nothing really interesting.

Walking back to my car, I saw a wedding reception at St. Pauls and some women were out smoking in their dresses. One was lifting up her skirt and loudly complaining about it and for a second, I thought about reaching for my camera. The women then noticed me and gave me odd scowls and I thought better than to take a picture. It was a shame, because the image would of been ten times better than anything at the BET gates, but hell hath no fury like drunken, disgruntled bridesmaids.

perry part 2

The homeless situation escalated in the past few months. The city has tried to crackdown on panhandling, citing negative reviews from tourists, specifically downtown. In early August, APD officers dressed like tourists and made more than 40 arrests over the course of three weekends. The targets were aggressive panhandlers, described as beggars who did not take an initial no for an answer or followed people as they panhandled.

Under Atlanta law, panhandling is legal as long as it is done with one request and out of the "Tourist Triangle". In 2005, it became illegal to beg for money in the area between Marietta Street to Piedmont and MLK Dr to Ralph McGill.

On September 2, a Wanique Odwin shot and killed a Detroit man after they got into an argument. Odwin had asked the man, Kashman Avery, for money and Avery took offense to the request. He shot him in the side and fled before being apprehended. Avery was taken to Grady where he later died from his injuries.

The message to the city was that any panhandler might just shoot you if you refuse. It didn't help that it took place in Midtown, one of the city's more afflulent, if not transitioning, neighborhoods.

The answers are difficult. The leaders are concerned that homelessness and panhandling give the city a black eye. The complaints from tourists, especially those the APD claimed who were so put off by the problem they would never return to Atlanta, raised enough eyebrows to get a reaction from City Hall.

Besides the arrests, the city has implemented five donation stations around downtown. It allows people to drop money in the machine which is later distributed to local shelters. In short, it gives people who want to give a place to do so and everyone else a safe excuse.

As of yet, no stations have been installed in the Midtown or Highlands area. The city is asking businesses to pay to have them installed at their entrances.

perry part1

Perry is like most homeless people I meet.

He came up to me spouting words as quickly as possible. From living here, I estimate that there are two types of people he will cross: sympathetic and disinterested. It's important to him to pitch himself as quickly as possible. The latter type will say no or simply ignore him. If you stop to listen or acknowledge him, he will try to bend your ear.

Perry shouts at me from across the street and my eyes meet his. He realizes I am listening to him and he runs across the six lanes through traffic to greet me.

I listen to everyone on Ponce. I have the time and I enjoying talking to people. Most of them know me and do not try to hit me up or treat me like some white tourist who gives out of guilt. Every so often I meet someone new and they give me a story. Sometimes it's a broken car or injured family member. Sometimes it's bus fare. Sometimes it's just a meal.

Unfortunately, I no longer trust anyone on the street. Even the ones I've known for years have been addicted far longer than they've known me. I don't know if they will honestly buy a MARTA pass or if they'll buy a rock from the corner of Boulevard. I'm not helping anyone if my quarter goes towards a hit or a swig.

Perry starts talking twenty feet before he reaches me. I make out that he is newly released from jail. He shows me bottles of shampoo and lotion he has in a torn backpack. He offers to sell me these at a much lower cost that Walgreens sells them. I decline. He counters by throwing in some AA batteries.

I cannot buy anything from anyone. Most likely it is stolen or simply written-off overstock from a dumpster. Even if I wanted to, I never carry cash on Ponce. My wallet is at home. When people ask me to give or buy a meal, I am not lying when I tell them I have no money, just a camera.

After a couple minutes or so of haggling, Perry realizes I'm not going to buy any of his goods. He asks me for a cigarette and I oblige. Then he begins to tell me his story.

I starting carrying cigarettes because they are dirt cheap. If I give somebody a cigarette, they will talk to me for as long as they like. I have been cordial and given them something that puts them at ease. I occasionally buy meals for some people, but that's rare. If I did that for everyone I talked to on Ponce, I'd have gone broke years ago.

Perry tells me about how he spent time in jail for robbery. He tells me his city of origin and how he came to be on Ponce. He tells me about his family in College Park. He tells me about the horrible things he's seen since he arrived two days prior. I ask questions about his background and the answers get erratic. Some things sound all too familiar and others don't make sense. I'm not sure if Perry is high, but I realize this is the first second that I begin thinking about it.

I try to help people in need. Giving them a dollar or a burger is not the answer. I watch people on Ponce, mostly young white people, empty their wallets for the first sob story that walks up to them. I want to run over to those people and smack them. I want to scream in their face. "Do you feel better about yourself?" "Do you think a buck is going to save this person from poverty?"

I'm not a poster boy for virtue, but I realized long ago there had to be a better answer. When we talk I try to steer people towards the right places. I tell them about the shelters and the soups kitchens. I tell them about the work programs and the health clinics. I try to point them in the right direction. Sometimes people listen, but often, I get the sense they just want to find a person who will give in and ask no questions.

Perry slows down and I think he realizes that talking to me is wasting his time from making money. He thanks me for the cigarette and puts it out. I don't know if I'll ever see him again and I ask to take his picture. He seems proud that I consider him for this and raises his neck to show me a tattoo he got in prison. It reads "Real Nigga". He thanks me again and heads off towards Midtown, his head up high and the bottle of lotion firmly in hand.