There are a few things everyone forgets about incarceration and homelessness; the losses of privacy and intimacy. Spending years without intimacy unless under "threat" and the years of noise, disruptions and other people. Who can know love under these conditions, who can remember love or how to love?
Many must change their orientation and find a touch with "fear". Homeless afterwards, where and who can one trust for a future? We all need another, but barricaded by threat, force, multiple witnesses and snitches, what do we do? Hide, deny and sublimate. We dream, plan and fantasize of love that will never for us exist again.
On a sidewalk, under a blanket, for safety or the sweet talk. We try to grasp that last or next fleeting semblance of meaning anything to someone else, until a White man calmly approaches and begins taking silent pictures.
She looks up unpeturbed, half expecting, he finally notices and reacts. The pictures are taken and the well dressed White man who's appeared in the dark, fear nothing and leaves with more than the paramour who will also disappear.
The woman's heart knows it's an epilogue, the man just finishes caring less that they'll never meet again