"WE SELL SHOVELS AND QUICKLIME"
No doubt there’s an entirely innocent reason why a hardware store on the border of the dark, empty forests of the Catskill Mountains is advertising a) sharp-edged spades and b) bone-dissolving powder. Most likely it’s catering to all those hygiene-conscious upstate New Yorkers who like to dispose of the carcass of last Sunday’s roast chicken in clinical, remnant-free fashion.
Maybe I’m just a little on edge. Last night, I was woken, jet-lagged, at 3am by the noise of a bull elephant attempting to dry-hump the door of my budget motel room. Blearily opening it, I discovered the wardrobe-sized ice machine across the hall had loosed itself from its mooring and vibrated across the corridor in an apparent attempt to make beautiful icy babies with my door. I called reception and asked if they could possibly switch off their horny ice machine. They said it wasn’t possible, “in case someone needs ice”. It’s late winter on the mountainous eastern seaboard. It’s 3am. It’s minus twenty outside. Who needs ice?
Photography: John Wycherley