It's Sunday night. Little more than wind whips around the remains of the Festival of the Arts: a few drunks and strung-out vagabonds; porta-potties; ungainly street sweepers. A guy's yelling across the street as I …
May 17, 2010
It's Sunday night. Little more than wind whips around the remains of the Festival of the Arts: a few drunks and strung-out vagabonds; porta-potties; ungainly street sweepers. A guy's yelling across the street as I …