MADISON ST. / CAP HILL / ARBORETUM —
I’m cold, I’m wet, I’m trying to be creative.
My ocular organs are stimulated by the cityscape of Madison Street. I want to stop everywhere and capture it all. Eerie houses, strange signs, and creepy alleyways force me to stop and click. It’s raining, and I can only shoot from beneath kind awnings.
I see a couple dining in the smallest-of-small, 12-inch alcoves on a 12-inch wide table, eating salty Pho. I must dine there before I die, I think to myself.
Feel exhausted, getting that looong walk high. Feel blissful.
Washington Park Arboretum seems ominous and forbidding under blackish-gray rain skies. Abandonment. Not a soul. For odd reason I feel the park is perverse, and sexual. Flora phallically erupting from the fecund soil. Embryonic buds and seductive flowers.
Sometimes a solitary walk, through solitary grounds, can bring out strange thoughts.