Rum Runners took this road South to the border.
Wheels of trucks passed through, chocked full of soldiers.
Band wagoners jumped off trains to escape the draft.
Shady men smoked weed under street lights and shared a drag.
The Prime Minister drove past this road once and did not remember.
The whole community gathered to follow a hearse in mid-September.
Whites pelted tomatoes when a store was bought by Negros.
They offered cheap goods and after a while no one complained.
Plans to build a college failed because of the city.
Janey kissed a girl and then married into money.
A once drunk man found Jesus on a stop sign.
He tried to warn the people but no one had the time.
Rain swept slippery where the Honda slammed the Chevy.
Flowers and a sign that said “You’ll never be forgotten, Janey.”
They still come to put them under the only street light that flickers.
Make sure the flowers are replaced before they wither.
Low res photos to show a plain street at night.
Repaved cracks like scars tell a story trying to hide.
Rain soaked streets illuminated by an evening sun about to go down.
Humidity that pulls at the unwashed hair on your head and eyebrows.
Everything feels stiff and dirty.
Everything seems to bite.
It is in this moment that we’re truly aware of our age.
Tired and lazy and weary, waiting for the day to turn to dusk.
By Ashish Seth