The last of the Indianapolis photos. Interrupted by gashing my head. Bo commented correctly, you just commit your soul to the written word. You hurt, you write about it. You enjoy watching DANCING WITH THE STARS, you, well, OK, maybe you keep that to yourself. I mentioned spending time in this bar. Across the alley was the viaduct, the Amtrak trains ran above it. I talked more to the guy in the beard earlier in the day than I did the other dude, I gave them both a buck to take their photos. The guy in the sleeping bag has that specifically so his laptop cannot be stolen. I really wanted to sleep out there instead of inside the terminal, but I knew I'd regret the early morning chill. Oh, I even gave a buck to the Whiskey Sign guy. He wasn't even begging, I just gave him a buck for the photo. (This goes back a bit.) Look to the left, sure looks like some object in the window is giving the finger. So I ate two breakfasts in the Red Eye Diner and wrote "Salt." I'm baffled by the imagery, I've never written anything like it before. Maybe I'm evolving. Can't seem to upload it. Fucking technology. Like I said above, its all about the written word. I'll email y'all the story, if you want...Wayne
2 comments:
I enjoyed the story. Definitely out there. I'm not sure what to make of it, but that in itself is a good thing.
Yeah, email me the story. Always email me the stories. Free Wayne Sallee. (Wonder if we'll all ever gather on the streets in vast crowds chanting that someday.)
Your photos are great. Always great. They're like your poems.
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