Across the street from a GM and Nissan car and truck dealership was a small, dirty beige stucco house with a primitive looking screen door and heaps of dead foliage scattered in the front yard. As soon as I placed, photographed and documented #91 on one of the front window sills, I heard a voice say, "Can I help you?." Startled, I turned around and saw a late middle aged, Hispanic man in a dark t-shirt and jeans. He stood next to his home and leaned over the front yard fence. I don’t think he saw me interact with the cowboy and indian icon art piece. My reply to him was I was interested in preserving old local homes on film. I asked him what he knew about this house. He told me that the former owner was injured badly in a car accident in Phoenix and never came back. Once he began talking about the house he went on to tell me about the homes and the families they belonged to across the street where the car dealership now stood. Then he added that the house he was living in now as an adult was the house he grew up in. He’s lived in the house all along even his parents died. This man seemed to be a bit on the lonely side along with being curious.
I bid him farewell and thanked him for his time. As I walked back to my car, I thought about the man. There he was - a lonely man living next to an abandoned lonely house. It appeared that time had forgotten them both. They were companions of each other - bonded by memories.
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