This photo was taken in Albuquerque, a.k.a. “the end of the line.” This slow, dusty, spirit-town is where you go when you yearn to get into trouble, bang yourself up a bit, and become better acquainted with your shadow. I journeyed to the end of the line, and I have the scratch marks on my chest to prove it, but I was a resilient young maiden and I bounced back out.
The Albuquerque buses were good places to hear jagged, lonely ballads. My lady left me… I served my time… Heck a lotta dunbops and then you gon’ get whooped!... Don’t bend over in the showers at County… and of course, A young lady like you shouldn’t ride the bus all by yourself!
Buses were the province of men, bangin’ it to Metallica or strumming tuneless, abused guitars. But I remember one woman-rider who was as brash and scratchy as the men. She had the word BITCH tattooed on her moonhead.
The photograph in this collage is from one morning when I saw Bitch all alone. It was early and she was walking up a desolate main street. Her legs were bare. Just some patterned drawers. And she wore this sandwich board, ETERNITY WHERE?