Sad walk through downtown today. Loss is always sad, no less so when it happens to someone else.

The heat broke a bit last night and this morning. I was happy. I'd been putting off walking through downtown for a week or so. With no tree cover to break up the asphalt, along with the effects of many tall sun reflecting buildings, the downtown space always stays five or ten degrees hotter than the tree lined suburban areas. 

Since we've all been thinking a lot about monochrome cameras and black and white photography I decided to do today's walk with a Leica CL, set to Mono HC, outfitted with a Sigma 56mm f1.4 lens. 

As always some things changed and some didn't. I'd gotten over half way through my walk when I turned the corner onto Sixth St. and Congress Ave. and ran into a man I've seen and sometimes interacted with for years out on the street. His name is Mark. He's an army vet. About 60 years old. He's been living on the streets here in Austin for years. He doesn't panhandle or accost people for money. Instead he plays "the drums" using five gallon, plastic paint cans as his instruments. For the past six or seven years I've seen him out regularly, and always in the company of his best friend, a smallish dog named, Nana.

When I see him I always try to drop five or ten bucks into his "donation jar." He's a pleasant enough guy but he obviously has some issues that keep him on the street. I've never seen him drink or operate under the influence of drugs. He's always cordial, in his own quiet way. 

I always loved seeing him with Nana. They were inseparable. I would walk by a side street on an icy morning and find them huddled under blankets and tarps. Mark always made sure Nana was well covered and always well fed. 

About a month ago I walked by Mark and Nana at the corner of 6th and Congress. Mark had his "drums" and Nana was lounging on a small scrap of carpet. But what caught my eye was a sign that told anyone who stopped to read it that Nana was having some medical issues and desperately needed medication. I stopped to ask Mark what he needed. 

The vet he had used for Nana had stopped doing pro bono work and Mark needed to come up with $90 to pay for needed medications. I asked him how short he was on hitting the total. He needed another $50. I never carry cash but my bank was right across the street and after interacting with Mark (and Nana) for years I knew I wasn't being scammed. And even if I was it wouldn't matter. 

I walked into the bank but realized I'd forgotten my wallet, checkbook, etc. when I left the house. The teller immediately recognized me and pulled out the $50 I requested from my account. We chatted and I told her why I needed the cash. She reached under the counter, grabbed her purse and added ten dollars of her own to the pot. She too had seen Nana and Mark outside for years....

I walked across the street and handed Mark the cash. He thanked me profusely and immediately started packing up to get to the vet's office. 

A little over a week ago I was in downtown to meet someone for a late afternoon coffee. I ran into Mark. It was burning hot outside. He was rolling his cart with his drums off the street and headed to wherever it was he was sheltering from the heat. We stopped and I asked him how things were going. Nana was worse. Mark was clearly anxious. Very upset. I handed him my water bottle and suggested he get into some cool shade quickly. Nana was not with him that day and I was glad of that since it was way too hot for a dog to be out. 

I hoped Nana would recover. She was probably only six years old. A very noble dog and a wonderful friend to Mark. 

I walked my downtown route today and saw Mark ahead of me on Congress Ave. and Sixth St. He looked....defeated. I asked him how he was and he just responded, "I'm so tired." Then, after a moment or two he pointed down to a small framed print on the sidewalk next to him. "There's a photo of Nana." He said. By that I knew she was gone. 

I said the usual consolatory phrases to Mark. I told him I would miss Nana. He was quiet. Nothing left to say.

I left and walked to my car. It was 20 minutes away. While I walked I was remembering all the times I'd seen them together but the one scene that stuck in my mind was seeing them a few days after the big freeze back in 2021. I was out early in the morning on what was still, for Austin, a cold day. But sunny. I walked down Second St. and saw Mark, Nana and one other person camped next to the old Children's Museum building (now a Google building) each wrapped up in sleeping bags and covered with blankets. Nana wedged up tight against Mark. 

When I got back to my car today I sat there for a few minutes and started to cry. I remembered the empty pit in my stomach when my beloved dog, AKA: Studio Dog, passed away. It hurt worse than any other loss I've experienced. I understood how Mark must be feeling. 

Right now I'm less interested in Monochrome cameras and more interested in trying to figure out the best thing I can do for a homeless man immersed in such a profound loss. I'll figure it out. But it's a sad day. Dogs are wonderful. Losing them is beyond painful.

Here are some images I made before I met up with Mark...