I wish I still had my Canon A520. It was a hot mess of a pocket camera that could take reflection shots that had an aura of unreality that I’ve not been able to approach with any other camera.
I wasn’t expecting to meet a pair of well-fed groundhogs at a building that was doubly abandoned as a restaurant and a barbershop. I could get pictures of just one of them.
Over the weekend, my husband and I took a drive through the alley behind the best house he lived in while growing up. The photo above shows what is left of its garage.
Through hearing about my husband’s childhood, I learned that I hadn’t truly been poor. There had been times my family had relied on the corner pay phone. We burned through a series of used cars whose idling engines sounded like Billy Joel songs. Throughout it all, we had a toilet that flushed and toilet paper. My husband’s family had neither until they moved into the house with the alley garage.
I drove to work behind the mysterious vehicle shown above one morning last spring, as my state emerged from its semi-lockdown state. I still don’t grasp what mix of found and reassembled items kept that load secure. It was an old pickup truck with homemade sides of daring height.