I lost myself in the rhythmic symphony of the train as we zoomed between mountains black as ink, bound toward our final destination.

Tucson was phenomenal, though we came up short on b-roll after our lead cut off access. Access has been and will continue to be the most difficult aspect of this production.

As we pull up to the motel in Ontario, Kitty asks for a cigarette. I introduce myself and shake her hand, which catches her off guard. She's not used to being treated with respect. She's not used to having someone be nice to her without expecting something in return. Her smile bares her three or four remaining teeth, but she was, and still is beautiful in her own way. Mark Singer succeeded because he spent six months with the homeless without any intention of making a film. We don't have six months and the agenda corrupts us, but we can suppress it, if only for a little while. Empathy is the key into this world, not money or deception.

A good sign, in any case. "In Ontario, they'll come to you," said one trucker. 7 AM, Sunlight breaking through the fog, and just a few minutes.