Porticos

35th St. found typography; ancient, immobile and gritty.

This morning I awoke with an unusual abruptness. It was 7:30 and, well, still quite early for some. I went straight outside. The weather was perfect and in my not-so-normal tendency to not want to "waste it" I decided to go out and take pictures. Not too many people out there but more than you would think. I saw a tattooed man with his shirt off and his dog.  Some men were already drinking beers around their truck, talking. I might have seen someone I knew (but they don't know that).
Then I drove down some more streets (all to familiar to me) and wondered if I would grow old in this humdrum town, or if there was some other blamjam town I should be looking into for my wacko life. I guess this happens to me often, or it used to. Not so much anymore really, these thoughts passed quickly. I have pretty much resigned myself to the idea that 'nothing happens anywhere unless you make it happen' anyway. You see, I don't really want much anymore; I won't get into it here but let's just say its getting easier and it's simpler than it used to be.

Near the end of this outing I heard "you took the silver, you took the gold, you left me standing out in the cold..." And then I went back home.