The Man Without A Face

I was finishing up a stroll around the city, just having eaten some tasty and cheap food and not sweating quite as profusely as usual. I was in relatively good spirits after the crushing loss of all of my photos of the last seven weeks, and was generally upbeat about the coming days of travel.

I was respectfully but frustratedly declining the repeated offers of vendors hocking their wares and services, when I caught out of the corner of my eye an older man, kneeling on the sidewalk with his cap upturned and extended. What held my attention was his face, or rather what was once a face: his skin had literally melted down to his chin, his eyes mere sockets and bulging tendons, his teeth and entire jaw protruding like a skeleton's.

I was so shocked by this man's appearance - unlike anything I had seen outside of horror films - that I continued walking a few paces before consulting my wallet. Unfortunately, I had almost all large bills (such misfortune!), but managed to find a few smaller ones, and with them in hand made my way back to the kneeling man.

Overly conscious, as usual, of my actions, I comported myself in what I thought the most respectful manner: make eye contact but don't stare. What responded to me was illegible as a facial expression, and my heart sank knowing that I would turn away and continue walking while he would remain, forever a miserable spectacle of war's atrocities.

Forty years later and napalm is still leaving its mark. Excuse me, but what a fucked up place this world can be.