These regions seemed cut off from the world, the rare inhabitants whom the fog had not engulfed stuck out along the quays like awkward specters of slumber, in that state of quivering emptiness which is called expectancy and which, little by little, hollows our lives like ancient tree trunks. Truth be told, I for one no longer expected much of anything.
From the short story The End of Prose by François Emmanuel.
The photographs in this exhibition are part of a larger group that I currently refer to as Stop Request. They were made in and around my daily bus commute from a suburb in New Jersey into New York City.
Anibal Pella-Woo, 2015