Tire Cursive on the Throughway
Recently my neighbor had a major blow out on the throughway. Both the back tires made this grenade explosion and caused him to pirouette his car across three lanes of traffic where it stopped just shy of the ledge where that small strip of cement protects drivers from swerving off the black tar veins that intersect cities throughout the United States. He left cursive lines of where the wheels snaked and squealed on the blacktop . It was kind of beautiful and I was kind of out of my head after that Coney Island Wonder Wheel ride on four tires so I took a bunch of photographs. He told me I was weird, but I think car catastrophes make you weird.
He needed to buy tires after that. We searched a bunch of different places from small independent automotive shops and corporate locations. You know, the Bulk Club places where you can buy a hundred rolls of toilet paper and leave the cash register wondering about your stomach health. There were actually a lot of cool things to photograph in there, but my friend told me not to whip out my camera: he was still recovering from my latest shot at his tire blow out ride. I loved the stacks of tires, the automotive equivalent of huge Roman columns holding up on high places of political and religious importance that were now just crumbs. They were lined up in neat rows. It reminded me of those Chinese statue soldiers guarding that dead empower.
There were really weird stains on the floor too. Gum, oil, rubber had all made their mark throughout the years there. I thought that the marks were like some sort of secret code for the rubber tire soldiers, so started to traipse around them and making up a story from them because my fried had already taken an hour to get tires. He still did not have them in an hour, and I was bored enough to make a story from Bubble Yum and old Castrol oil. I work at a library where I read to children: it just sort of got into me to start telling stories at any hour or minute of the day after working there about a month. My friend likes to listen to them though he does dislike my photos. He says the stories told in the photos are not as good as the stories I make up from tires and other things.



