I drive by a man everyday on my way to work who stands by the bus stop on 6th and Oxford in Korea Town and lathers himself up with what I can only assume is soap. The sight of him, tall, overweight, shirtless, massaging white suds over his torso and arms, confuses me. I wonder how or where he washes himself off, if he washes his legs, or if the dry soap routine is done in stages throughout the day. The thoughts run through my brain all at once, and every time, I think, today will be the day I take a picture of him. But I never do.