South 18th Street; It winds up to the Slopes. The weather is gritty and grainy and black and white, just like this 3200 speed film. Tromp, tromp, tromp. Up the hill. There was an apartment up there for cheap. A one bedroom was $325. The same landlord had another on the Flats for $450. That’s a lot more, but there’s a place to park the GTI. There is no parking on the Slopes. The city was not made for cars and neither was man.
This was January 2007. Ten years pass like a blink, but not those first few weeks in the cold, grey city. The days eeked by and the cold wind passed through the window sills. If you looked just right, you could see straight to the grey outside. There is nothing but grey here. Where is the color? The bridges are yellow, but they too look grey. There is ice and dirt all over. Small little piles on Carey way make it hard to park. So we slide the car sideways. It is now flush with the curb. Coffee is hot and cheap down the street at the Beehive. It’s even warm inside and the incandescent light squeezes out some yellow warmth into the grey air. Everyone has tattoos and wears black. It is a deep black, deeper than zone 3. There are no details in the shadows. The film hasn’t been developed enough.