vein

 Candid portraits of people riding the west-bound #7 train, still-life photography fragments, and portraits of pigeons and seagulls taken at the Junction Blvd train Station in Jackson Heights, New York City. I have heard stories of the arduous and dangerous odysseys people embark on to reach this country. A woman told me she rode for nine hours in a hidden compartment under a bus and next to the wheel. I have seen abandoned camps in the Arizona desert with discarded items like soiled diapers of babies walking across Sasabe Valley in Arizona, a place where 150+ people die every Summer journeying in 115 Fahrenheit temperatures. The stories of immigrants are the stories of dreams built in the sky. Many of these dreams die. And just a few fly through like birds in flight. Please see the veins on his hands.