This is Pitcher Street in Kalamazoo. Once a bustling industrial section, it is slowly giving way to taggers and decay. The closing of Checker left a rotting carcass behind. The east side of the street is a wasteland; the west slowly withers, given over to the relentless taggers, artists and imbecilic juggalos. It’s just a question of who is stronger. the businesses hanging on, or entropy, atrophy and anarchy.
Kicking around on a piece of ground
In your home town
Waiting for someone or something
To show you the way
That will be us in one short long week. Walking the old streets. Chasing that old, fickle, illusory muse. Searching for new inspiration. And hopefully walking some new old streets, with old chums. What’s the worst that could happen?
Nostalgia is just one appetizer. A bit of grounding, while running out the clock on the book that was everything from the beginning until now. A new adventure requires new adventures. The interwebs are a voracious bitch, consuming everything faster than we can create it. So we press on, first with new looks at old places.
The time is now
A new song is playing
We still have plenty to say
Keep bail money handy. No good story ever started with “I met Gingerman for a kale and endive salad and some prayer.”
Or make that Dive Bar, downtown. This time, the late, great Missia’s bar, Kalamazoo Michigan. Lost in the name of “progress”