40×30 oil on canvas
Drought, wind and dust, they bring about the tumbleweeds that bound down our streets as if run-a-way chariots from long ago. These are our traffic jams, the only ones we know. The three of us roam the two-block radius that makes up our downtown whiling away the hours, exploring the empty buildings, playing games among ourselves. Sometimes, we hear from walls, the other side, distant voices of vacant minds, people we know and wish we did not.
And because it is us, here among this small-town nothingness, we relieve ourselves of our bodily fluids where no one can see. Still, in Rainbow, we are not so advanced that public restrooms exist for the likes of all three of us.
Excerpt from Steps: A Memoir