Junk and Junkyards
McCARTHY, Suttree: “Harrogate pushed open the gate and entered…
The air was rich with humus and he could smell the flowers…
Phlox lavendar and pink along a leaning wall of cinderblock and
loosestrife and columbine among the iron inner works of autos
scattered in the grass.”
SCHWARZENBACH: “In the evening, when I
walked down this steep road, a policeman steps
out of the shadow cast by the bridge asking
whether he could accompany me ‘home.’ He
walked behind me until I reached the area of the
illuminated billboards and well-lit streets. I leaned
once more over the railing of the bridge. West
Front Street is shrouded by darkness and river
fog. The ‘dream of a better life’ faintly shimmers
above all of this like a waning crescent moon…”
Junk and Junkyards
McCARTHY, Suttree: “Harrogate pushed open the gate and entered…
The air was rich with humus and he could smell the flowers…
Phlox lavendar and pink along a leaning wall of cinderblock and
loosestrife and columbine among the iron inner works of autos
scattered in the grass.”
SCHWARZENBACH: “In the evening, when I
walked down this steep road, a policeman steps
out of the shadow cast by the bridge asking
whether he could accompany me ‘home.’ He
walked behind me until I reached the area of the
illuminated billboards and well-lit streets. I leaned
once more over the railing of the bridge. West
Front Street is shrouded by darkness and river
fog. The ‘dream of a better life’ faintly shimmers
above all of this like a waning crescent moon…”
...the journey seems to me less an adventure and a foray into unusual realms than a concentrated likeness of our existence: residents of a city, citizens of country, beholden to a class or a social circle...
— Annemarie Schwarzenbach —