With Dan’s college girl steady on the ground, we climbed the caboose after dark and took our time crabwalking the roofs and perched like anxious sparrows on the ventilation peak.
A dozen characters, each one with their own story. This is what I like best about what I do. I get an idea, I give it a shape, and it takes off from there. Where it’ll end up, even I don’t know.
Catfish looks for atonement. He didn’t find it at May’s. It ain’t in the shower. And it ain’t in Kool-Aid’s bedroom.
The Parkers are a White middle class family hailing from the Southern United States. Mr. Parker is a successful administrator. His daughter is a professional performance artist. Both of them let me follow them around at work taking pictures.
Chapter 10 of MAGICTOWN: The Man in the Mist
Back in the corner of town, there’s that turn where I once hydroplaned, under the speed limit, trying to get to your parents’ house
Four and a half tons of scrap metal, tractor parts, and an A.I. running off of an eight month old Linux kernel.
He’d told Catfish he was an atheist one drunken Sunday morning but Catfish thought that was the same as a Methodist or something else that wasn’t Baptist.
A fairly traditional and seemingly normal subject matter – a school system – comes alive with subversion, drama, humor and life while under Brandon’s watchful eye.
An apprehensive lady with raven hair and a costume fit for an 80′s fantasy flick.
Kool-Aid gets out of the hospital. Catfish starts to drink it all away at his favorite bar, Mae’s Hide-A-Way.
Sweaty revelers braved the soupy air of the Bluff City for grub and a photobooth.
“Turn me on, deadman.”
In the old Sherriff’s Residence and Jail,
on the same block with that courthouse,
I once cleaned out and restored a cell
“Amidst the smoke and the splatter stands a man…with a hat.”
Flatbeds. Holsteins. Hospitals. The boys decide to live a little. Welcome to the fringe set of Overton County’s redneck bunch.
While working in Conway, Arkansas last week I walked away from my interstate motel looking for something to photograph. Here is what I found.
Looking out the plexiglass window, he could see almost all the way across the station. In bed behind him, his Jane sighed and rolled over. She obviously wasn’t a Sardine, her body was too short, her muscles were too big and her skin had the fading remnants of a tan.
I worry I will have to be the one to find him in his usual booth at Steak & Shake, smoking Vantage cigarettes for speed and exhaling against the black gloss side of the booth.
Pat’s sister makes it into a design. The end result of 25 solid years of nagging.
Summer’s on! Time for a little lighter fare over here at Songs About Tennessee. I’ll be neck deep in bowlin’ and Bigfoot in no time. Until then, how about a little Hump Day humor?