Dent or detail.
+ Ink Polaroid / *
+ I took this one through the bus window while it was drizzling outside. The bus had stopped to pick up a passenger right in front of a gas station converted into an autobody garage. The sky is grey, and the white building is small with little green potted plants where gas pumps used to be. Like the trim of the building the pots are randomly painted red, white and blue. The sign at the top of the little building reads "American Dent or Detail" in cheap, painted letters. Water from the hard rain before drains in strings from the lack of a roof gutter. By the lack of cars and turned-off lights, it looks like nobody is there, neither customer nor mechanic, for either dent or detail work. After I took the picture and the bus pulled off for the rest of the splashy ride, I kept thinking about dents and details. And much like that tiny, empty buidling, I started thinking about all the dents in my life and how those are the details that make me. I stare down at the scars on my hands, feel the bump in my nose, hear my heart and breath beating slightly off center, off beat, and know, as evident by that tiny, empty building with patriotic, potted plants, no mechanic or garage can or even needs to fix what is both body and spirit mine, dented and detailed mine.
..mosi
+ I took this one through the bus window while it was drizzling outside. The bus had stopped to pick up a passenger right in front of a gas station converted into an autobody garage. The sky is grey, and the white building is small with little green potted plants where gas pumps used to be. Like the trim of the building the pots are randomly painted red, white and blue. The sign at the top of the little building reads "American Dent or Detail" in cheap, painted letters. Water from the hard rain before drains in strings from the lack of a roof gutter. By the lack of cars and turned-off lights, it looks like nobody is there, neither customer nor mechanic, for either dent or detail work. After I took the picture and the bus pulled off for the rest of the splashy ride, I kept thinking about dents and details. And much like that tiny, empty buidling, I started thinking about all the dents in my life and how those are the details that make me. I stare down at the scars on my hands, feel the bump in my nose, hear my heart and breath beating slightly off center, off beat, and know, as evident by that tiny, empty building with patriotic, potted plants, no mechanic or garage can or even needs to fix what is both body and spirit mine, dented and detailed mine.
..mosi