"Nearing a town, clumps of folks clustered around their cars. They were the roughest looking poor white people I've ever seen. They were a pale kind of white, like they'd been getting on down among this dark deep forest for years. They stood with cigarettes burning, quiet as they watched me approaching, staring."


"We wandered on. I found an open shop of souvenirs, shells, candy sticks, wind chimes, whale bones. These are the sediments of my youth, the mystical place where five dollars is sparingly parced between netted bags of sea shells and beads."

25 Copies Made
Hand Printed
Brooklyn, NY 11226
Copyright 2009