Take notes. I am living in my car. I have found a cottage in the woods. In two weeks, I move in. A hurricane made sure I am living out of one bag. A photography bag. I have lived out of one canvas bag for fifty years. Sue me. Tonight Walmart parking. People ask me where I am living (I never went to town much before the hurricane). Now, I am seeing development with a far more jaundiced eye than I did before. We call Asheville The Big City. Most of us avoid it like the plague. My laundromat: A garbage can, a tree, and rope.  The cottage is extremely remote. The treehouse I was living in met category five furious winds that tore so many lives completely apart. The only reason the cottage made it was because a mountain protected it.

The photography: Question. Where are the dogs. Where is the dog hair. My dogs are in the back seat asleep. They kinda think this is fun. We get to go to such glamorous places like Walmart. Nature is in no way pastoral. Something pastoral about these apartments. The homo sapiens who invade and attack the woods never give back anyway. My sleeping bag is cozy. Interior decorations are my boots. From this perspective, these photographs were taken from Mars. It’s a class thing. Which means it’s a culture war. I begrudge no one Ikea. Might be a New York City dessert. But no. Some of the cars parked by me are filled with women. Widows. The tough males gone with the wind (who told you to go out there), were torn apart. We are still finding body parts in trees.