I like the no-man’s land. That’s the Chicago in me. Once, a long, long time ago, a friend and I were walking from one loud, beery nightclub to the next, in the quiet of 1 a.m., the creamsicle glow of the streetlights washing the darkness out of the leaves overhead. It was right around his birthday – late June. Anyway, we reached the street where the club was, when there on the curb we saw an old office chair – cracked leather seat, wooden arms, swivel and rock mechanism intact. Pretty much the exact chair from Bailey Building and Loan.
The curb is no-man’s land, and 1 a.m. is a pretty good sign that no one wants whatever is on the curb. We carried it back to my car – maybe 2 miles – then somehow wedged it into my 1979 Honda Civic and took it home.
So you see – chairs or photographs? There’s really no difference at all.