Friday, September 4, 2009
air smelled of burned rubber and melted wires
The men slowly toured the perimeter of the house, taking notes and photographs, like archeologists mapping out a ruin. Upon opening the back door, Vasquez observed that there was just enough space to squeeze past the refrigerator blocking the exit. The air smelled of burned rubber and melted wires; a damp ash covered the ground, sticking to their boots. In the kitchen, Vasquez and Fogg discerned only smoke and heat damage—a sign that the fire had not originated there—and so they pushed deeper into the nine-hundred-and-seventy-five-square-foot building. A central corridor led past a utility room and the master bedroom, then past a small living room, on the left, and the children’s bedroom, on the right, ending at the front door, which opened onto the porch. Vasquez tried to take in everything, a process that he compared to entering one’s mother-in-law’s house for the first time: “I have the same curiosity."
"Trial by Fire," David Grann
[Damen Avenue below Wicker Park]
- ► 2011 (107)
- ► 2010 (115)
- if that ruins your life
- i smile and pass by
- Two new shows in October, at Myopic Books and Dove...
- i want to live like ipod people, i want to do what...
- [Dearborn Avemue at Randolph Street]
- talk trails into tattered scraps
- reminded of the beauty of gesture
- like honey in the trees
- even the buildings
- until all that remains
- such a pitch of tedium
- moving cross the borders
- air smelled of burned rubber and melted wires
- somehow lurking behind this absence
- no one hears his own remarks as prose
- ▼ September (17)