Those who have nothing, still have something to give.

I met Augustus this morning. He was sitting at a friends cafe enjoying an affogatto and croissant, wearing his blue suede shoes. Approaching him with curious interest, I couldn't help but notice his extravagant sense of style. It was 7am and Augustus was dressed in a grey pinstriped suit, heavily patterned scarf and a rather fetching burgundy felt hat finished with a feathery flourish. Not too unorthodox for a Wednesday rush hour, but slightly odd given the 35 degree and climbing temperature outside. Taking a seat at the table next to him I ordered my usual full cream flat white. I for one was never really too fussed with the fanfare of fancy coffee and such pompous choices as an affogato. Quietly we sat in each others line of sight in silence save for the tired and forced morning nod of acknowledgement, drinking our respective caffeine of choice and flicking through the morning paper. Also not too unorthodox for a Wednesday rush hour, but slightly odd as it seemed that neither Augustus or I were in a rush.

As a photographer, I have wasted many hours at my friend’s cafe. Sitting, observing the world as it turns, passers by creating a silent movie of characters for whom I create an internal narrative. All the while I wait. For that ever elusive moment to whip out my camera and fire off some frames like a stealth panther on the hunt for prey. I have never liked to document people sitting still, rather to capture them in motion, unaware of my prying lens and observational eye. Candid is always kinder. But here I found myself this morning, sitting directly opposite this unusual character who for all intents and purposes was very much minding his own business, when curiosity got this cat.

‘Excuse me?’ I asked him quietly. ‘But I couldn’t help but notice your fabulous hat, where did you get it?.’ ‘This?’ he laughed, flashing a glassy pair of crystal ball eyes at me ‘found it in the dumpster out the back, didn’t think anyone would mind.’ He gestured to me, ‘Come and have a seat, I don’t bite.’ Unaware of what I was getting myself into, I slid my chair across the floor joining him at the table gingerly placing my camera down amidst a sea of papers, tissues, dirty plates and the empty affogato glass. ‘Augustus’ he said. ‘Nice to meet you.’ From where I had been sitting, and perhaps a byproduct of inherited myopic eyesight, I’d failed to earlier notice a rather large pile of overflowing plastic bags at my new friend’s feet. Joining him at his table I was suddenly acutely aware that Augustus wasn’t just an interesting character I might photograph thanks to his outlandish outfit, but someone who perhaps might possess character greater than any narrative I’d already conjured that morning. Augustus was homeless. 



'So you’re a photographer?’ He asks me, nodding toward the very obvious, very expensive piece of equipment I had ungraciously plonked in the centre of the table. ‘Yes, I am. Mostly I like to photograph people as they pass by really, I don’t like to have to ask for people’s pictures, I’m a bit of an introvert’ I reply. ‘I see’ he says. ‘Were you wanting to photograph me?’. I could feel the heat rising to my face and my cheeks turning a shade of beet red. ‘well, I, uh’ I fumbled. ‘I’d be honoured’ he offered. ‘You know I used to work in the fashion industry, I worked with a lot of photographers in my time. Thats why I like to always dress the part. I like to wear a suit with my blue suede shoes’ he pointed at his feet which were surrounded by the heaving bags containing all of his worldly possessions.

For the next hour we talked. I learned about Augustus’ family, his great loves and losses and how he always visited my friends cafe because it was the only place where he didn’t get scoffed at if he ordered an affogato with his government issued free meal ticket. It was his simple luxury of the day before wandering the streets, through alleyways and parks, searching for the place he would rest his head that night. He graciously let me take his picture as I nervously messed with my camera settings, hoping I would do his portrait justice. An image he would probably never see, because he wasn’t on the internet, he didn’t have an email address and I never knew where I might find him again. I thanked him profusely for his time and turned to collect my things. 

‘

Here’ he grabs my arm as I’m about to leave. ‘I’ve got something for you.’ Rummaging through his plastic bags he pulls out a tiny assortment of lenses. ‘You might be able to use these for your photography.’ I cast my eyes over what looks like some tiny plastic lenses, made perhaps for a mobile phone but certainly not for my professional grade DSLR. ‘I want you to have them’ he says to me in earnest. ‘I found them in West End one day, I think someone left them the park. You should have them. I have no need for them and you might be able to make something magical with them.’ He flashes me those tired crystal eyes one more time as I walk away with tears in mine, his tiny gift in my hand, silently giving thanks to the universe for showing me that even those who have nothing, still have something to give.