“TO THE UKRANIAN FOREIGN EXHANGE STUDENT”

I must have heard someone say that ten times over the intercom while I was at the Minneapolis airport, before, during and after the worst chicken-cheese steak sandwich ever, one so bad it had some kind of aspirin aftertaste I had to wash out of my gullet with Starbucks Breakfast Blend©. Nice airport, bad food. Got dirty looks in the men’s room for scraping the shit off my tongue with a bottle cap.

Plane ride was half full. I sat in the back alone and finished watching the copy of Catch Me If You Can I snagged from my uncle and getting totally immersed in Flicker.

Was so happy to be home and in this run down heap of an island I got little flitters of joy in my heart during the cab ride home as we passed thought Harlem. I’ll take this crumbling dinosaur over that Californias fabricated clap trap anyday.

This is it, the last holdout of real architecture. This and few other enclaves of taste. The days of inspiration are primarily over. It can’t be regulated to major metropolitan works when most of what we see is housing and commercial development.

Theory: When architecture fails in it’s legacy to inspire while it serves, the society is in decline. But we all knew that.

I ran my fingers on the acid etched tag on the cab window and smiled at the genius of it. Krink you fucker, I love you.