Up from the Metro in Paris on a rainy morning and into the mist and half-hearted rain that covered the world. Beautiful buildings in the classic Haussman style to the left and right, a baroque, almost vulgar monumental fountain captivating tourists and their luminescent waterproofs. 200 yards to our left is the Seine, and just poking, teasingly in and out of sight are the gothic spires of Notre Dame. And yet, my eyes are not drawn to them.
Initially drawn by the delicately lined street painting of a woman’s torso. Her eyes stare down towards the floor and so I followed. Beneath her gaze lay a rolled up sleeping bag and a slumped, sleeping man, to all intents and purposes dead to the passing,viewing world. The sight, though not uncommon in all big cities, struck a chord. The graffiti woman seemed to be looking down at the destitute looking man, watching over him.
I could not help but take a photo. The image was too good to miss, too well framed. But I couldn’t help but think that I shouldn’t really have taken the shot.