Out where the warehouses and heavy machinery yards have been infiltrated by blackberry brambles, where acorn woodpeckers riddle telephone poles with holes, I met a grungy morning-walker striding up a sagging side street. He had black earbuds in, their wires half-hidden in his former alcoholic’s slag of stringy gray hair. He was maybe fifty, loose under his black cutoff tee, but walking smartly for six in the morning. When he hailed me good morning and passed by trailing muffled rock, for me that whole district of going-to-seed industry took on the pliably lit gentleness and readiness of dawn in America.
Morning-WalkerIn by Chris on August 25, 2012 at 6:00 pm