cobalt_blue

Currently living in SF. He likes it quite a bit, he enjoys the sense of anonomimity, the feeling of being an outsider yet, an insider at the same time. Sometimes though, he wishes he could leave almost all of it behind in a cloud of dust trailing behind the beat to shit jeep painted powder blue. From there he would travel most of the country, but never forgetting his true love - the american west. All the way from the Rocky Mountains and back to the Nevada Desert. He would take pictures. Lots.On black and white film. He would count miles on backroads by how many beers could be consumed between point A. and point B.Occasionally stopping along the way to blast a wild hog or two with an antiquated bolt action rifle that has the bluing rubbed off in all the appropriate places. He would visit the smallest towns, the ones that don't even have schools and count dogs as members of the population as posted on the highway sign. He'd listen to people talk, and follow them about on their daily lives, have potluck dinner with near strangers at the trailer outside of town surrounded with early november snow. Laughter and cheap whiskey would run quite freely. He'd get to know the cowboy in west Texas, the one that kicked out his headlights in a drunken fight with his girlfriend and drove home by flashlight. The young waitress at the Waffle House in Amarillo. The anarchist who travels through the west coast by train hopping. All the while photographing it. Perhaps he'd learn something important about life that way. He would stop and camp in the evenings watching the trillions of stars make their way across the sky. Of course he would eventually tire of this life that had little structure and move back to SF. Downtown this time, and hopefully in an apartment that has a good view of the bay and chinatown. A suitable 2 bedroom of course, with plenty of room for darkroom and enlarger. In the late evenings he would sit in the big leather chair that his grandfather witnessed the Kennedy assasination in, which faced the bay window that overlooked the bay and chinatown and spent hours staring into the fog. Just staring.