Auburn Avenue, Atlanta, Georgia
[Image: "Dr. King's Grave" © 2006] by Stu Jenks

Stu Jenks is the photographer who firey spiral images have become forever associated with Mythic Journeys. He is also an accomplished musician and recording artist, as well as a very fine writer.

"Hey," I hear a voice yell from across Auburn Avenue.

A black man waves at me and begins crossing the street. Not badly dressed but he appears homeless. Not a bad vibe coming from him, though. I stop and wait for him to get to my side of the street.

"Excuse me, but could I bum a smoke?" he asks.

"Sure," I say, pulling out my pack of Camel Filters from my front pants' pocket. I have a smoke lit in my right hand. I put the butt in my mouth as I fish out the smokes.

"Take one for later," I say, as I pull out two butts from my pack.

"Thanks. I appreciate it."

I now notice that he has a pack of cheap cookies in his hand. You know, those imitation Oreos with the cheap vanilla cookie on one side and the bland chocolate cookie on the other and the creamy filling in the middle that tastes a bit of tin. Looks to be a small package of ten, with a couple already eaten.

"Need a light?" I ask.

"Yea, that'd be great," he says. He puts one smoke behind his ear and then cups his right hand around the cigarette in his mouth as I light it with my BIC, all the while holding the cookies in his left hand. He exhales a big cloud of smoke.

"Thanks, man."

"You bet."

"Hey," he says holding up the clear plastic tray of cookies, "would you like one?"

"No, thanks. I'm good, but thanks."

"Okay. Well, take it easy, Bro."

"You, too."

The man walks down Auburn toward Downtown. I'm heading that way. His stride is longer than mine so he's quickly out in front. I continue walking, sending a little love his way. Can't hurt. After about a minute, he stops about 100 feet in front of me, turns and with a smile on his face says in a loud voice... "You know, these cookies are sure making me thirsty!"

I laugh. I reach around and pull out my wallet. I'm pretty sure I got some small bills. I silently pray that I don't accidentally pull out the couple of fifties I have and show them to the whole street.

Doesn't have a damn thing to do with this being Auburn Avenue. I don't like to pull out my wallet at all, on any street in Downtown Tucson where I'm from.

I find a couple of ones. I walk up to the guy and give him the cash. Before he can thank me I say, "Now, get yourself off the street. Find yourself a good woman like I did a few years ago."

I wince. Haven't a clue where that woman line came from. Sure I found women to enable my bullshit years ago but is that really a good piece of advice? Shit, that's the last thing I would wish on a good woman, is to be the co-dependent to this guy. He's a nice guy but still. He's a homeless addict.

"I'm trying to get off the street," he said with his head slightly bowed.

Damn it, now I've shamed this guy.

"Well, just take care of yourself, now" I say, with gentle compassion in my voice or at least I hope it sounds that way. No condescension or pity please. Pity sucks. I kind of like this guy and I hope the best for him. I really do.

"You, too," he says, raising his head.

I smile and then he smiles, too. I then turn and continue walking toward Downtown Atlanta. He stays a bit longer behind me, looking at the cash I gave him.

I normally don't give paper to homeless folk, but today seems different. Maybe it was seeing Dr. King's grave again. Maybe it was just I liked this guy. Maybe it was Grace. I really don't know. I'm not really this nice of a guy.

I finish my cigarette and look toward the skyscrapers a couple of miles away.

Time to get back to Mythic Journeys.

Hmm. I have to be on a panel tomorrow that asks the question: 'What does the Soul look like?' Well it looks like me, it looks like that homeless man, it looks like all of us, I think.

Sounds a bit glib. Have to work on that a bit.

A block later, I hear a sound. Just a staccato 'Hey' in front of me and to my right. Not loud but it gets my attention. I look toward the sound and see a nicely dressed man in a FUBU jacket. He is making eye contact with me, and then he shows me his left hand. In his palm is a two-inch stack of bills with a twenty on the top.

I look at the money. I look at him. He looks at me. I look away. I keep walking.

Twenty some years ago, I would have stopped and gotten a little something for the evening. Not today. Not anymore.

A half a block later, a big grin breaks on my face and I quietly chuckle to myself.

That guy's got great style, though. My kind of drug dealer.

Addendum: At the panel on "What does the Soul look like?" I talked about these two men and me on Auburn Avenue the day before. About how my job on Earth is to have my Spirit grow and not to have it be diminished by myself or others, and that also part of my service to Mankind, when I can, is to help other people's Spirits grow as well, whether it's through my art work, or loving people when I don't feel like loving them, or gently touching the arm of a friend, or just sharing a kind moment and a couple of bucks with a homeless man on Auburn Avenue.

And by not buying any crack cocaine for myself for later.

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