For many weeks, walking home from work each night, I avoided the guy who sat in a wheelchair in front of my bank. He was there every evening, with an outstretched cup and a smile that revealed a gold front tooth. His brown eyes gleamed. A field of stubble covered his jowls. He had skinny Read More
By Daren Fonda 5/31/99 12:00am
The first thing you notice is the smell. It hits you like an artillery shell, an odor of sweat and grime bold enough to fell a Harley-riding warthog. As you stand in the vestibule, you close your eyes and inhale it deep into your lungs.
You’re here to discover your own heart of darkness. Read More