s t e v e  d a m a s c u s
p h o t o  g r a p h y

I went back to my boyhood home today and took a walk in the neighborhood where I grew up.

Sadly, the truth is, you can't go home again:

"You can't go back home to your family, back home to your childhood ... back home to a young man's dreams of glory and of fame ... back home to places in the country, back home to the old forms and systems of things which once seemed everlasting, but which are changing all the time -- back home to the escapes of Time and Memory."
-- Thomas Wolfe

I met many locals out for walks and exchanged pleasantries with a smile.

All the while waiting for the inevitable.

It came in the form of an elderly women, out for morning stroll.

"Why are you taking photos of our buildings?" she asked.

"I'm a photographer" I replied.

"Well, that's obvious. Can I be nosey?" she asked.

"You can be anything you want" was my reply.

Shortly after, a woman on a bike came over and said "Hello photographer!". I guess the old lady, unsatisfied with my reply, reported me. This woman struck up a conversation aimed at finding out just who I was and why I was there, thinly disguised as interest in the history of the stores. Very thinly disguised.

I gave her one of my cards.

She retreated, hastily.

Ah, Evanston, you go your way and I'll go mine and keep only the memory of what was, not what is.