or, how the flash reveals the dirt in us all

Went to see a gallery show the other day, showcasing the work of Mike Brodie, The Polaroid Kid. He's been hobo-ing his way across country, shooting with his sx-70, "riding the rails" as we call it here in the U.S. His shots are stark, pure portraits of what can only be considered the hidden population of the country, people living in abandonded buildings, creating their own communities, tattooed and ragged, junkyard models. I figured he was a voyeur of sorts, a rich kid slumming it. I was fucking wrong. He's one of them, his clothes the same shade of brown and grey, his manner hyper-alert yet comfortable no matter what the locale. He was at first suspicious when I asked to take his picture, but relaxed immediately when he saw me pull out my 680.

They are citizens of a world I see only in his shots. And though they are strange to me, it's exhilarating to know there's folks out there who hide between and behind walls.

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