On a recent afternoon, three unacquainted individuals were all drawn to a small park near the Santa Monica Pier, a mecca for tourists, locals, the homeless and the elderly.

As thousands descended upon the Santa Monica Pier on a picture-perfect Sunday, some of them pushing strollers, and others holding hands or asking for a handout, three people from different walks of life sat within a few feet of each other: one a retired union worker who has lived in the area for decades, another who was spending his first day in the California sunshine and the third sporting an oversized bowtie and sunglasses as he strummed an electric guitar.

Christopher McNeal was born and raised in the beach-side city of Santa Monica.  He spends many of his days stationed on a bench that overlooks the Pacific Ocean alongside his trusted companion, Jock, a German pointer. The streets of Santa Monica, infamous for its overcrowded, impoverished community, seems to exude an aura unlike any other place. The grassy patches of park land in and around the Santa Monica Pier are known for attracting people of all backgrounds, and all for different reasons.  What McNeal enjoys the most about his hometown is not the majestic California sunsets, the crashing waves of the Pacific coastline, or the Thursday night Twilight music series — it is simply the fellow human beings he encounters on a daily basis.

“What I love most about this city is the people,” McNeal said. [I especially enjoy] speaking with the tourists. I meet people from all over the place.  Just the other week, I met a traveler from Australia.”

Visiting the pier has become habitual for McNeal. He encounters new experiences along with new faces to match the experiences daily. The bright but cool morning of August 1 was no exception.

A young German tourist who backpacked from New York to Los Angeles in a time span of seven days, who goes only by the name of “Mike,” happened to be sitting directly across from McNeal on the corner of another bench. A native of Hamburg, Germany, the 21-year-old adventure-seeker said he travels alone and is equipped with nothing but the clothes he wears, the sleeping bag over his shoulder and the shoes on his feet. Difficulties are inevitable within any given journey, and Mike acknowledges that he has experienced his fair share.

“Not staying in a hostel and sleeping under the stars was definitely a lot more difficult than I had imagined,” Mike said in heavily-accented English. “I recall visiting as a child, but really don’t remember much.”

A few feet away, a flamboyantly-dressed man who appeared to be in his mid-sixties belted out a Beatles tune.  The eccentric street performer presented himself in an unsure and awkward manner, yet exuded charisma and personality with every note he sang.  Woodstock, as he is known throughout the streets, perches himself atop a wooden two-beam fence, his oversized, purple sunglasses nearly obscuring his face.

He preaches the tales of his war days and iconic “Woodstock” tattoo to anyone who will take the time to listen. Woodstock has spent many a day on the same fence, at the same spot, with the same guitar and radical attire for the past five years.

“I’ve held several jobs all over the place throughout the years, including a job in construction, but music is what I love best,” Woodstock said.

What people love best may be what drives them to stay put, or travel or perform. Which allowed three people of vastly different backgrounds to intersect on a sunny summer day in California.

“All kinds of people come to this city,” McNeal said. “You just never know who you’re going to meet.”