See Dan Go. Go, Dan, Go.

The Neutral Ground, a café nestled in the Uptown suburb of New Orleans. A small section of cracked tarmac, beaten into submission by the Louisiana heat serves as a prologue to the small shops interior. Old planks of oak taken from the decks of fishing boats line the cafe walls, enjoying a new lease of life on land, perfuming the room with the musty smell of old sea-beaten wood. They house various instruments to be scratched and tickled by the patrons.

Awkwardly leaning on the corner of the bar, perched on a tall stool sits Michael. He cradles a coffee in one hand and rolls the handle between his fingertips like an ex-smoker holds a pen, a force of habit more than a choice. He sports the all too familiar style of the bohemian artist, a wispy beard, heavy crimped shirt and billowing coloured trousers, unburdening to him despite the summer humidity.

I count the coins in my hand and order a coffee, Michael notices my accent and we exchange the usual pleasantries that every traveller ticks through with strangers. Across the room a man picks up a guitar and works his way through a song lamenting the destruction caused by Hurricane Katrina.

‘At least that guy can get through his front door now’, Michael quips. ‘I still have to climb over my couch to get through mine’

Subconsciously I start mimicking Michael, and twist my own coffee around in my hands; does he still live in the ruins of his home?

‘No, I move around my friends places until I overstay my welcome. I’m getting along ok; I still have this though, if this was gone...’

Michael lifts a heavy old film camera out of his bag up on to the bar. He nods to it, ‘I’m a photographer. That’s what I do, only use film, just film. Every picture, all the negatives, they were all in my house. I don’t do anything digital; I don’t even own a computer’.

As he speaks he pulls the camera over his shoulder, like a proud soldier organising his weaponry.

‘My entire life’s work, all gone’

Punctuating his words with a gulp of coffee, the photographer applauds with everyone as the song comes to an end.

‘Y’know what, though? I’m sticking with this’, as he taps his camera. ‘I’m stubborn, or lazy, that’s probably why I haven’t moved my couch yet’.

He drops down from his stool. Surprisingly he’s slightly small, his personality not quite comfortably housed in his small frame.

‘I’m building up though, like everyone else’, he says. ‘Enjoy yourself’, and with a wave to the room he leaves, and I’m left staring into space.