This is a picture I did not take
of a homeless man, seat surfing in a tacqueria, leering at customers, cursing any of them who met his gaze, or worse, following them outside and berating them into giving him money, and when they gave him a dollar, he'd hold it up in the sunlight like it was a see-through and worthless kind of money and would follow them until they gave him five, which they hurriedly did, and when he sat down across from me and started cursing me (I'd just finished eating) I rose to leave, and he rose too, right on my heels, and when I realized he was too close for my comfort, I stopped and did a quick U-turn -- at which point he shoved me, cursed me, and asked if I wanted to "start something" at which point I backed away and notified management to keep an eye out for him and his hassles.
This is not a picture of him, nor is it a picture of his doppleganger -- a man with the same height, face, hair and mania, whom (five years ago) pointed a revolver at my chest, demanded my wallet and my date's handbag while screaming at us to "look away! look away!" a mere thirty-feet from the front door of an art gallery on opening night, nor is it a picture of the certified letter I received a few weeks ago in the mail that told me the doppleganger had completed his cycle of prison > work release > halfway house, and was now free to be back on the streets, his debt to society paid.