Transcontinental driving in the dead of winter is all about dodging storms—but no one’s perfect. In the emptiness of Western Nevada, with only an occasional RV/farm combo to keep us company, the edge of a major storm ran into the setting sun.
“Post-apocalyptic” was the general vibe. The landscape was so large as to be without scale; I couldn’t tell you the actual height of the hills in the distance.
The American Theatre in Canton, New York has survived many a winter (and an unfortunately interior remodeling) with much of its twentieth-century charm intact. Continuing my investigation of the “slightly sinister” in small-town America (from yesterday and last spring), this is yet another charming vision of Americana. The echo of a passing car’s headlights in the street below only adds to the mystery.