Rio

"THAT SMILE SUITS YOU!" Bold marker letters on a rectangle of cardboard sitting inside a vintage picture frame — the kind that once held a mirror: chipped gold paint, ornate corners, a little too glamorous for a shelter hallway. Rio smiles despite himself. Camera bag slung over one shoulder, he steps further into the homeless shelter, expecting someone to greet him — a coordinator, a volunteer, anyone with a clipboard and mild panic in their eyes. Instead, he finds himself in an empty lobby. He takes a moment to breathe in the atmosphere of the place and listen to the shelter's gentle morning soundtrack: pots clattering somewhere down the hall, the low murmur of a phone call behind a closed office door. He shifts his camera bag. Early again. Too early. Or maybe just perfectly on time for absolutely no one. Rather than interrupt whoever is on the phone, he starts walking. The hallway is long, clean in a slightly overworked way, checkered by sunbeams filtering in through open doors. Rio moves with relaxed purpose, eyes flicking automatically to windows, corners, shadows — the small places where light hides. Then he hears it. Humming. Soft. Off-key. Cheerful in a way that makes him slow down without thinking. He follows the sound until he reaches a doorway. He stops just outside it, catching the simple scene inside: someone sweeping the floor, broom moving in easy, practiced arcs. No rush. No performance. Just… life happening in a quiet room. Rio watches for a beat. Not staring — observing. It’s what he does when something feels unexpectedly real. A soft smile tugs at his mouth.