I’d been living in an apartment colony called Mallard’s Crossing beside an office park on the outskirts of Louisville. When I looked out my window, I wasn’t necessarily in “sour old Louisville,” an idea of a town with which I had an antagonistic relationship. The surrounding mallscape, it could have been anywhere— Falls Church, Plano, Toledo.
In my beery mind this display of exurban contempt was the equivalent of a lone “boo” during the silent section of a live Rodan set.
(Source: pitchfork.com)
I’d been living in an apartment colony called Mallard’s Crossing beside an office park on the outskirts of Louisville. When I looked out my window, I wasn’t necessarily in “sour old Louisville,” an idea of a town with which I had an antagonistic relationship. The surrounding mallscape, it could have been anywhere— Falls Church, Plano, Toledo.
In my beery mind this display of exurban contempt was the equivalent of a lone “boo” during the silent section of a live Rodan set.
(Source: pitchfork.com)
Posted 7 months ago & Filed under david berman, silver jews,
