I call him Luis, but I am not sure. Luis is unable to do more than mutter a few words, often breaking down in tears. He refuses to go to the local shelter or Methadone clinic, sleeping instead in various spots, spending his waking hours bumming cigarettes and panhandling in front of bodegas.
I worry that my pictures put a happy face on addiction. Photos cannot capture the pain, suffering, and destruction wrought by heroin, crack or in this case whiskey. Sometimes it requires smoking a cigarette with a sobbing incoherent drunk to truly remind you what loneliness and addiction can do.
I love you.
Thanks for sharing these very strong photographs and their stories.
Amazing depth of work that evokes both a visual and mental feeling. Well done. J
The pain and the poetry. Thanks for connecting me to this work. Addiction is a real sad story and I think Chris is documenting it in a very honest way.
p.s I don’t give a shiznit about what you said when how you said what, and I don’t really care that this guy is a or was a banker.
the work speaks for itself.