I was accosted as I left the drug drug store.
"Can you spare a dollar."
"You'll have to work for it."
"What do I have to do?"
"Let me make a photo of you."
"Just for me. Here, let me show you some photos I have of people."
That did it. The panhandler couldn't resist the lure of my iPhone, which beckoned him to join the others who lived in my portrait gallery: friends and neighbors, Navajo guides, my gardener, workmen, hairdressers, waitresses, artists, etc.
When i made my one photograph, I paid my subject his wage, and asked him his name.
"Darryl," he replied. We parted. As I left, I saw him walk away, too. Maybe I'll see him again, maybe not. He will live for a while, though, in my iPhone and here.