The first act shows a day in our town. I’ll show you how our town lies.

Mid-sunset, 02143. Post-fourth of July calm. Smoky air tastes of autumn and burnt hotdogs and hamburgers leftover from yesterday’s festivities. On one of the hottest days this summer, gnat clouds hover everywhere.

For a little city ten times the size of my own hometown, street activity is minimal. Cars line the one-way streets, but many are caked in pollen or dust. So incredibly still, except for the occasional streak of a car on a distant artery and the drip from the exhaust of the rusted truck parked in front of my apartment building.

I am not traveling the world and saving orphans or researching social unrest in excitingly unrestful cities, but with a huge Nikon hanging around my neck, I am inevitably a tourist. What kind of tourist would tour anytown, USA, I’d like to know? Regardless, peculiarity always seem to form in front of a camera lens, wherever it’s pointed.

Hanging sneakers Parking line

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