A Day in the Life of Street Cultures Passing

The marginalized, overlooked, excluded, find their means on the streets. They slither through the night into day’s flow of people and places as though dusk had fallen permanently over them. They are handsome and worn. They wear the streets like a jadded piece of brick holding the foundations. Their qualities are frayed members of a forgotton song. They make their way as though the streets were thier living rooms. They plough through the traffic with determination of a destination. They huddle and soar.

The day was hot and heavy, sagging down from the sky, pulling our dresses down with them. My dress was glued to me. There was no shade. The sidewalks looked bleached, bright and blinding. I needed to go inside. I just had to scrounge enought to buy a cup of coffee. The crowds lingered and amazed with their innuendos of a profitable day. People found their spot in the sun and staked it. They are someone and they have.

The streets were filled with local traffic moving in and out of stores. The business men stood fast and gazed at the street with glazed over eyes from deep thought. The delivery men were jotting in the restaurants and then exiting the corner with impatience. At the subway, were crowds of by-standers awaiting their rides. The restaurant clientle were out front smoking their cigarettes. The mothers were carrying along many children and groceries. The disability crowd leaned up against the wall observing and engaging. Traffic ploughed through. The endless stream of hand signals and drive bys over and over in repetition of an old forty-five past its day. The old men hobbled along with their canes and spoke to a congregation. They had the neighbourhood history in their immigrancy and owned as much as I could see. Antique silver spoons in the window of Good Will by the Pound. Dreams of sacrifice, building a new beginning out of the old tales of another life. God bless you, they read.

The night descended. The sky grew dark. The bars looked warm and buzzed with the labourers. Smokers, without a home, stood out front, captured by the lingerers. People moved in close enough to breathe-on and make a difference. Life on the margins brings familiarity from those who want thier distance, and unidentified generosity from those who care. The night will turn to day and tomorrow will see the same. Its an endless survival of the dislocated. They belong. They have community. The streets tell a tale of endless pursuits of something more. But where is the guiding light that redemes them?

A Day in the Life of Street Cultures Passing


Caledon, Canada

  • Artist
desktop tablet-landscape content-width tablet-portrait workstream-4-across phone-landscape phone-portrait
desktop tablet-landscape content-width tablet-portrait workstream-4-across phone-landscape phone-portrait

10% off

for joining the Redbubble mailing list

Receive exclusive deals and awesome artist news and content right to your inbox. Free for your convenience.