first met Léo when I saw him going through the garbage and recycling bins right out the window of my office at home. I went outside to offer him some soda cans and glass bottles. Given its winter I asked him to come in. I noticed he had an interesting face, so I asked him if I could photograph him, to which he agrees. I asked him if he had a phone number, which he doesn’t, so I propose to go to his apartment for additional photography. He warns me to wait a week before stopping by, his apartment being apparently unsuitable for guests. I tell him I don’t mind, mess is always great photographic material.

I end up at his house this very evening, and he greets me completely nude. He immediately puts on some pants. Next comes his apartment: I have never, ever seen a mess so bad in my entire life. Dirt on the walls, things lying everywhere, cigarette buts on the floor… The whole thing smelled of a horrible fusion of cigarette and sweat, all crammed in one, tiny room. I had trouble even moving through the place, and couldn’t even make room for my flashes.

I talk with Léo, he is 57. His wife left him 26 years ago, but he still fondly remembers her. He’s an alcoholic, has 2 daughters, one of which he’s never even seen. He’s done 15 years of jail and been a street bum in Montreal. I ask him why he’s been in prison but he won’t tell, finding it more suitable to tell the tale of when he stabbed his cousin. He shows me his 2 baseball bats and his enormous machete. I start to sweat and ask myself what the hell I’m doing in a place like this with this guy. I convince myself not to be afraid, that there’s nothing to fear. So I keep talking with him, taking pictures. As time passes by I realise he might be suffering from schizophrenia. I learn that he was in reform school at 14, I tell myself it evidently didn’t work. He has this strange way of trying to dominate me, convincing me more and more that he’s nothing but an old bum. I stay confident and show him that I’m not scared and our relationship is on an equal basis.

His friend Sébastien arrives. If “friend” is the appropriate word for someone asking for money, that of which Léo has none. I use this opportunity to leave (I’ve been there for more than an hour). He shakes my hand and holds it way to long and tells me he’s the boss, and that he’s scared of nothing. I am, though, so I leave right away. While walking back home I realised how stupid and naïve I was. Naïve to believe everyone is nice. I’m scared of this guy, scared that he knows where I live.
I called insurance the very next morning.