hudson, NY
a breath away from NYC, tucked into a no-name hotel where the bar isnt open on sundays or monday but the sleepy, sad antique stores are. walking distance to the newspaper, set up in a red brick building that once upon a time was a jail, morphed into a city hall of sorts and since the mid 1800's has housed machinery turning paper and ink, typewriters click click clicking until suffering extinction at the hands of mac computers and databases. a time warp like you see in the movies, everything's slow motion and yellowed. the chipped paint on silent buildings hint towards hauntings and secrets. steady drizzle makes everything drab and droopy, old cars splashing up to stop signs, the drivers leaning on horns that only manage meak wooooooooonks as small children repeatedly open and close the door to the hair salon, giggling as the bell clatters into the glass. a worn-down town tucked away, and i come lugging adaptions and upgades to make their life quicker, their news more accessible.