WILLIAM

Today I talked to William.

I drive by the sea and decide to stop my car to enjoy the day for a moment and watch the boats leave the harbor. On my left side, I see the Marina del Rey harbor and the buzzing city. On my right side, the opening to the vast ocean. The wind is strong and refreshing. Three crabs are playing on the greenish-brown rocks. They crawl from the sunny to the shady side and follow the comings and goings of the water. Next to me a man with a fishing pole stands still. He is wearing a dark ski jacket. His eyes look tired and he has a cold cigarette butt squeezed between his lips. "Are you a fisherman?" I ask. "Yeah," he answers without looking at me. He sits down on the floor, opens a tin box, and cuts a piece of slimy squid. I sit down cross-legged on the concrete about eight feet from him. Above us a black pelican starts to dive and suddenly changes his mind. The man continues to speak, still watching only his hands. "I bought the squid frozen at Redondo Beach. I walked all the way from there. It took me from last night to this morning to get here." Half of his words get swept away by the wind. You can tell that extended loneliness has made that man gruff. He puts the bait on the hook and stands up. I imitate him. And with a powerful movement, he throws the line in the distance. It creates a long sharp hissing sound. His name is William. He is forty-one years old and was born in Ontario, California.

"What kind of fish do you usually catch?" I ask William. "All kind. Small, big, medium. Look at the bird!" he exclaims. The black pelican dives into the sea with a big splash. "There's fish around here," says William with optimism. The bird comes back to the surface. He holds a silver fish in his bill. We watch the fish move for a while and finally disappear in the bird's throat. I ask William where he lives. "In the street," he says. "I've been living in the street since I was seventeen. And I've been fishing around Redondo Beach since then." - "What happened?" I ask. "Mother. Father. Disaster. It's a long story," he replies. We stay silent for a long moment, staring at the line that doesn't move. A few sailing boats pass by. William throws the line again. He catches fish once in a while "when they are hungry enough to bite." When it happens he sells it to the fish market. This is how he makes his money. In the windy sky above us, the same pelican comes back. "He's gonna dive again, he's gonna dive again, here we go, here we go..." says William in his swaying Afro-American accent. Then he throws the line another time. "You can tell I'm an impatient fisherman, huh?" he asks. And this makes me laugh.

No fish. William decides to go to another spot close to this one. I follow him there. We reach a wooden bridge that opens on a canal bordered with luxurious houses. This place is called the Ballona Lagoon. In the rapid current, hundreds of tiny shiny fish are milling around. William slowly lets his line go down. But the bite is so light that as soon as it touches the stream, it gets carried away. A little further on the bridge, I watch a chubby teenage boy clumsily kiss a girl. She giggles and kisses him back. When I ask William if I could take a picture of him, he refuses right away. "I had my picture taken once and the person reported me to the police." I decide to take a picture of the fishing pole with William's hands on it. I write a few words in my notepad. Suddenly William turns towards me. He looks me straight in the eyes: "Take it." He points at my camera with a grave face. "Show them," he adds. I take a first picture. And a second one. This time, William smiles.

VIPER

Today I talked to Viper and Ed. They sleep behind my garage, near a wall behind a bike shop. When I arrived, Viper was already awake and her dog – Molly – was standing next to her.

Viper has tiny sharp green eyes that seem to smile when she speaks. Viper is her birth name. When I ask her what her mother’s name is, she pauses before answering: “I don’t remember. But it was a Native Indian name. I’ve got a picture of her.” Ed sticks his head out of his sleeping bag and waves to me. His smile is warm and gentle.

Viper and Ed have been together for six years. They can’t get married because of the healthcare she receives. Ed has a job which means Viper would lose the money. She can’t afford it. While we are talking, Molly licks Viper’s face.

“Fifteen people (homeless) were arrested at Venice yesterday night, you gonna have work”, says Ed to Viper. She laughs. “They call us mom and dad”. She works as a homeless associate advocate. She goes to court to help “her kids”. Since Ed and her are the oldest, they are like parents to them. Ed adds: “You mess with our kids, you mess with us”. I ask Viper how she learned to defend others. “I read law books. I also do a lot of Sudoku, it’s good for my memory”.

Molly is a double rescue. There’s a strong bond between Molly and Viper. The dog never left her since the day they met. At 18 Viper was diagnosed with epilepsy, but it is only six years ago that the doctors found out she actually suffers from a rare form of it. She is slowly loosing her muscle tone and can’t walk anymore. But she can stand. Ed watches her struggle to get up but doesn’t move unless she asks him to. “She’s a strong woman”, he says. Viper had seven strokes. She laughs about it. “I’m a survivor”, she says as she pulls herself on her wheelchair.

It’s 8.45am. Ed packs their blankets and folds the green plastic tarpaulin that isolates them from the concrete. He combs his hair, then checks himself in a car window. He kisses Viper goodbye and heads to work. Viper’s voice deepens: “We’ve been around here long enough. Now our goal is to find a van and drive to Texas.” She smiles and her eyes twinkle. “That’s where our granddaughter was born 16 days ago.”