This is an old photo. Years ago, when I had my business in San José, I went downtown almost every day — and over time, you get familiar with the people living on those streets. I always wanted to tell their stories, but never to profit from them.
There are certain people who become part of the urban landscape: like a worn-out bench, like another statue no one really looks at. They have their spot, their corner, their known routine. But one day, suddenly, they’re gone. And you can’t help but wonder: where are they now? Are they okay? Are they better off? What happened?
With their absence — and with the uncertainty — something unexpected stirs: a genuine concern for their wellbeing. Because while you saw them every day, their presence was taken for granted. Their situation, though hard, felt regular, almost part of the natural order of things.
And then comes the question with no easy answer: can someone end up living on the streets by choice? Is it freedom or a trap? Will or addiction? Maybe both at the same time. Maybe the line between choosing and being unable to choose is thinner than we’d like to believe.
