Here is a man, as if asleep, at the side of the street. He has no shoes, no hat.
One arm is under his head, the other across his body. He could be asleep, as if in a Rousseau painting, in a desert with a lion over him. But this is modern times, he wears a t-shirt, a wristwatch, pants tied by a string. A boy is watching him, with his shirt over his mouth and nose. He is not too close. It is hard to tell this man has been hit. His face is unblemished, his arms clean.