It’s a mid-July afternoon at Bushwick’s Myrtle Avenue. The above-the-ground J and M trains are racing each other in production of industrial noise and delivery and/or removal of the peoples of Bushwick. A pollo truck in the nearby shade has just reached this season’s top level of sale of Colombian chicken. People are walking, bumping into each other, buying fruit flavored ice cones, cheap jeans and used electronics, their talk is melting into a chant… A hipster chick on a bike wearing shorts causes a small revolution among the topless bodega guys playing domino in the shade. A large white SUV, windows down, just stopped at the red light, proudly provides its addition to the general summer sticky craziness on Myrtle Avenue and it feels like entire Bushwick just started to vibrate in the rhythm of latin pop.  The lights  turn green, the engine roars, driving god knows where, uncovering a young Parisian photographer Axel, who just for a second, overpowered by the heat on a camping chair, closes his eyes behind his trendy Raybans; Canon 5D Mark II left rested on his lap. His hip assistant Ryan is just talking to an old guy who lives 2 blocks away on Broadway. Axel took a photograph of the guy only a couple of minutes ago.