A big old Thunderbird pulls up to the curb blasting Curtis Mayfield. Doors pop open. The driver comes round the hood and lifts a trembly old man in sky blue pajamas from the passenger seat and carefully sets him in a wheelchair and this ancient guy is grinning from ear to ear the entire time, singing if there’s hell below, we’re all gonna go.
Nobody could smoke a cigarette like Linda Darnell.
Snapshots from my classroom.
Stories from the white spaces on the map.
A dub field of mid-century blues.
Love among the ruins.
Lonely gas stations and motel neon.
Her best friend was a little battery-powered radio.
He felt close to her while he drove, his insides vibrating like a teenage dream.
Somewhere Roy Orbison plays on a battered old radio.