A few weeks ago I posted a picture of the old Masonic Lodge in the old Town. There's nothing left but potholes, kudzu, and brambles as thick as a broom. We'll, there are the old pictures taken through the years and the memories.
When I was a kid, the wall on the west side of the main street had a fresh coat of austere gray paint stroked on it every few years. I'm guessing the railroad did that. The wall was the only thing between main street and the trains that rocked and rumbled through the old town as regular as clocks back then. The only paint on that wall these days is sprayed on by teenage lovers and seniors from the high school a few miles away. WE ARE AWESOME, WE ARE GREAT, WE ARE SENIORS 98. And so on.
Sometimes graffiti on that old wall is ugly and often vulgar. But sometimes when the angle of light falls in a flattering way, it can be beautiful.
When I was a kid, the wall on the west side of the main street had a fresh coat of austere gray paint stroked on it every few years. I'm guessing the railroad did that. The wall was the only thing between main street and the trains that rocked and rumbled through the old town as regular as clocks back then. The only paint on that wall these days is sprayed on by teenage lovers and seniors from the high school a few miles away. WE ARE AWESOME, WE ARE GREAT, WE ARE SENIORS 98. And so on.
Sometimes graffiti on that old wall is ugly and often vulgar. But sometimes when the angle of light falls in a flattering way, it can be beautiful.
