A quiet unseen but felt from the ground up is muting our footsteps, tucking itself into the corners of rotting houses, tightening around reeds of Johnson grass that blanket a decade’s worth of blighted lots. Unsettled ground. A pulse that’s flat-lined but the host is still blinking.
Ghosts walk the perimeter of a Brad Pitt housing project. Camaros park on paved driveways, geometric buildings all on stilts with slanted roofs and patch-worked paint jobs in obnoxious modern fashion. Out of sight a high school band marches through the streets, banana trees grow where sidewalks end. No stop signs, no garbage cans, skeletons of churches that ask to be left alone.
The Garden of Wishes
See Me For Who I Am
A little bit of everything
Colonel Short's Villa
It thrills me with the reminder of why I do what I do--and infuriates me with the reminder that I'll never be able to do it completely.
Follow the music.