I wander America on a Harley Davidson motorcycle, sleep on couches and in fifty-dollar motel rooms, eat at Waffle House and Main Street cafes, and have conversations with people whose politics I might not agree with. These are our stories.
The Pit
After my driver’s license was suspended, I started hanging out nights at the Pit & Paddock
Shade
Sunny, mid-80s, a break in the shade in the middle of Iowa farm country…
Ivory
She’s sixty-two and remembers as a child helping her great-grandmother pick cotton, dragging her small sack through the fields following after Big Mama.
Big Peach
Bluelexis, The Goat, Tessa, Big Peach and Jason
Naked
The Terrace Motel in Natchez, Mississippi costs forty-five dollars a night. Cash.
The East St. Louis Monitor
On the wall, centered on that narrow passage at eye level is a photo. Arriving at work in the morning, coming back from a coffee break or the restroom or a meeting, he can’t sit down without looking at that picture. And his visitors, as he fields questions from his chair, are forced to confront it, to think about it, to lug that image out in their memories when they leave.
Judgement
Don (he titles himself Jah’ Don) makes Caribbean soul food. His mission statement is to make food with “flavor you can feel.”
WTF Motel
He stopped, bent down and out of the gutter picked up a bright, shiny Bowie knife and held it above his head
Born in 1964
James and George are HIV positive
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