I shot this while out on an assignment for the Richmond Times-Dispatch (I was with Paul Woody, out on Monument Ave, before sun-up, looking to stop passing runners who were preparing for the upcoming Monument Ave 10k Race).

While we were standing on the corner at the Jefferson Davis Memorial, I was approached by this man who seemed to take an interest in my camera. He asked if it had any "range" on it. I told him it would reach from a couple blocks to pretty close. As I was answering, I turned the camera towards him; he made this grimacing grin, and I popped the shutter. All he said then was, "Aw, man..."

Then he told us that at one time, he'd had a dream of being a photographer. I started to tell him it's never too late, but he interrupted me to tell us that he had just finished serving 19+ years, and had just gotten out 6 days ago. He said he'd been travelling for the past 6 days, looking for work, and that he wasn't having any luck.

Before either of us could say anything, a runner approached. I looked at the traveller and said, "Excuse me." He replied, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be in your way."

As it turns out, the runner was just out running--not someone for us to talk to. I looked around for the guy, but he was gone, vanished. He hadn't been in front of us for two minutes, and all I was left with was this image. Even though he was almost smiling when I took it, now that I have his half-minute bio, it takes on a completely different light for me.

It's a fine line between anguish and joy, between a cry and a smile, between a laugh or a howl. Who knows what is heavier, the burden of incarceration, or the burden of freedom.