I kicked at the gravel and snapped some photographs in the grey drizzle. I thought about happier times while traffic thrummed behind me on the interstate, the sound of air-conditioned and globally-positioned drivers oblivious to the plight of family-owned motor lodges. An orange shopping cart glowed behind a busted picture window. Mattress guts drifted across the parking lot and got stuck in the trees. I thought I heard a voice say hey and I hurried back to the car.
As Friday night began to roll, he recalled Heraclitus’s warning about ‘night walkers, magicians, priests of Bacchus, and mystery-mongers.’
New Orleans is home to jazz and government neglect and other American traditions.
“A tantalizing 21st Century cross between Let Us Now Praise Famous Men and On the Road, this remarkable and utterly original memoir heralds the arrival of a new and important American voice. The Road to Somewhere will take you places you will not easily forget.”
A man believed his only chance at justice was to take a hostage and march him downtown. An idealistic dancer packed the theater yet the city cast her out. A search for their ghosts continues beneath the city.
You’ve seen her before. She’s the old woman with her eyes closed on the bus, the one who sits alone on a bench for hours. At night she listens to the exhausted air conditioners that sound like the sea, tuning in to the city’s static like an old radio show.
The Former Desk of the First Office of the Bureau of Manufactured History was unveiled at a ceremony on the third of May and continues to appear in unexpected locations throughout Indianapolis.