The Forgotten.

I went to the bank today about 2pm and there was a man being served. He was wearing raggedy cloths and was unclean and unshaven with messy hair and only one leg. He was clearly one of the forgotten people. As he was talking to the teller, I heard a part of his conversation... he told the cashier (teller) "I was sleeping in the park last night..."

This reminded me of a strange thing I saw last night as I was walking from Broadway to Seymour Centre to meet Siavash. I had just finished work and was very tired but I was walking and taking some photographs at random on my way. As I was walking past the park I heard a sound coming from the trees. I did not think much of at start, thinking it was the sound of a possum. Then I noticed something very strange. I looked up in the tree and noticed a large black piece of tarp hanging from the tree. It held the shape of a very large sack. What was strange however was the movements it was making. It was not moving as though from the heavy winds of the night but from movement within it, wavering from side to side as if the thing inside was trying to adjust itself for comfort.

That is what a city so prosperous holds within. In the dark of the night, in the alleyways and the unvisited dwells. It seems there are many of the forgotten, spat out of the underbelly of this city, so fast and so stingy to forget its own people. Forgotten, the awake in the mornings to carry on their task of breathing, eating, drinking, begging and surviving, with no goal, no hope, no thought and no future.

They truly are the forgotten

"Forgotten by the city"

"Forgotten by the people"

"Forgotten by themselves"