13 March 2008. White Rogers Trucking slanted against gray sky, figure hidden behind, crumpled trousers and the lower stripes of a nondescript brown and orange shirt. Tailgate. Small digitized turning lights, high-key pastels, yellowish, blinking away. Pair of work boots approach cab from opposite side...
Nathaniel West, the San Berdoo Arms. Homer Simpson, his one hand carrying its mate to the sink, bathing it ... Reading this at fourteen--amazed by the presence--the feel of something authentic, if slightly unpleasant... That was it, a reduction. To argue with, as if heroism could find no place amidst the snaking wires and pasteboard backlots. World not so much of ruin as of displacement. Dollar trains to paradise, the seedy beachfront villas, crumpled winter skies, half-finished drinks in linoleum casters, pinkish blankets, longing...
And yet...
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