Tuesday, October 26, 2004
Shell
In the town of Lincoln, along 14th street there is a garden level commercial center.If one dares descend the steps into this depressing little graveyard of belly-up businesses, one find a most unusual store nestled between the dying movie theaters offices and the long forgotten family hair cutters. Its a little shop called Muckraker's newsstand.As the name suggests it sells (or sold) off beat and liberal newspapers from around the world. The small little shop went under in late July 2004 for obvious reasons.On the display window to the left of the door there is an alien like the squeak toys from Toy Story. Its cracking and peeling but serves as an excellent lead into one of the most depressing sights possible.A stir in the back of a shop. A man walks between the rows of merchandise that will soon be returned to vendors. Hes lanky and has dark hair. His name is Bradley Miller and he looks as depleted as his shop.In many ways he is his shop. His livelihood was tied up in that building. The comics sold in the shops, the records he peddled and the movies for rent were all from his personal collections, and now they go back so he can make back some of the money spent on the lone.I asked Miller if I could come in.After he said "why not" and I set foot within this unknown failure a wave of depression over came me. Behind the long silenced and rarely used cash register was an aquarium with a turtle struggling to keep its head above water, a perfect allegory for miller.communism, anarchy, and feminism are the varieties of magazines and pamphlets that now serve as the store's carpet. Apparently the promises of these doctrines, much like the idea behind this store, fell shot of their ideals.I flip through 70's comic books and shoot the shit with him.Its all I can do to avoid an overwhelming feeling of pity for this man. Its one thing to see an empty store, but to meet the proprietor is a horse of a different color. To ask him about his failure almost inevitably causes a look of agony to creep onto his face, but he talks of it for its a type of therapy.As my exit time draws near, my eye is caught by a magazine on the floor, a photography magazine with his name on it. I ask him if I may keep it, he awkwardly agrees, wondering why I want it.I still have that magazine.In a few days all the shit will be returned, the signs of Miller's reign will be stripped and scrubbed and thrown away, leaving behind nothing but a For Lease sign to show his former place of business.As long as I have that magazine, I'll remember that store. It will remind me of yet another flop in the system. I guess you could say I collect such things.My 'museum' grows more every year.
posted by Dan # 3:06 AM 1 comments