After a job trading bonds went bad, Brandon Stanton moved to NY and started taking portraits of people out in the street, as a hobby. Then he started printing their stories as well. I posted his blog a few years ago, and since then he has published a book of his photos. Each story is just a paragraph really, but so full and heartfelt and defining. This one below stuck with me all day.
"My dad lived in Newark, so he’d pick me up on the weekends and I’d go stay with him. But since he didn’t really get along with my mom, he’d never come over to the house. Whenever his train arrived, he’d just call and I’d go to the station to meet him. But one weekend he was three hours late. I tried to call his phone but he didn’t pick up, so I assumed he wasn’t coming and left to see a movie with my friends. I guess his train showed up a few minutes later. Because my mom said he called as soon as I left. When I finally got in touch with him, we got in a big fight. He was mad that I’d gone to see the movie. He said I didn’t care about him or love him. That was on Saturday. Late Sunday night, I got up to go the bathroom, and found my stepdad and mom crying in the kitchen. They couldn’t even tell me he’d been murdered. They just said that ‘something happened to someone in Jersey.’ I asked if it was my aunt. Then my cousins. Then my grandma. And my mom just kept shaking her head. I went down the entire list of people in Jersey before getting to my dad. And with each name I said, I got more and more scared, cause I knew what had happened."
An well-written article about Florida from a new magazine.
A well-written article with a great title from an old website.
Get to work. Test on Monday.