They say that he came from from the seamy side of life! They say you could smell the sordid details of his existence... that he was foul and run-down and repulsive... from a flyblown bar on the edge of town. But he didn't come from a squalid overcrowded nook in the poorest part of a sordid shantytown. No. He came from worse.... He was marked by filthiness and degradation from neglect and poverty.
But he was not morally degraded. For he had hope. And he had a dream. A dream kept alive by his willingness to die.
His was a sick society that honored his willingness to bleed with every cut inflicted on him... where thieves stood beside the righteous to watch him die.... God willing....
Then he had none....
(Felt tip drawings from photographs by Justin Reyes)
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