You could hardly ask for a better Hiawatha day. The morning sun is warm on my face as I scout the neighborhood south of Lake Street. I am intrigued by glimpses of the city skyline poking up in the distance. I recall a different skyline from my homeland, the Snowy Range outside Laramie, Wyoming. I always enjoyed a quick visual check of the Snowies each morning as I drove to work at the University of Wyoming.
This morning, west of Hiawatha, a small pink and white bicycle parked in a front yard catches my eye. A shaft of sunlight spotlights the bike overlooked by an oak tree flush with autumn's gold. Preacher men, slick in word and cloth of God, are already working the neighborhood, house to house, as a black man and his son rake leaves in their yard. I make my way to Hiawatha to snap a picture of the city hot mix plant. The plant is set behind a recently-built masonry wall featuring a Southwestern-style motif of geometric relief and powder blue color.
Click. I grab the shot.
I turn to see two young men who have walked up behind me. Both are husky, one is Indian and one man is white. Each sports a partially shaved skull, while the Indian has an hair outcropping that almost passes as a ponytail.
"Hey," I say. "How's it going?"
"Good morning, sir" they respond in unison as they pass me by.
"Nice day."
"Yes, sir. Not too cold, not to hot."
The young men continue on Hiawatha. To what destination? The journalist in me realizes that had I been quicker I may have gotten a picture of the two streetwalkers and learned of their lives.
It's the people, not the street.