There are streets in the world’s cities that leave you with the impression that something more is hidden behind one of the doorways.
There are streets in the world’s cities that leave you with the impression that something more is hidden behind one of the doorways. Whether they be forgotten troves of shipping goods or swarthy men with jaded imaginations and unrighteous intentions, as you pass through for some unexplained reason you sense it and shudder. Yet you spend time there again and again, drawn to the cafes or bars, malingering despite your better judgment.
These evil boulevards are not necessarily dangerous or crime-plagued, the rot is not so easily cleared away by an extra police patrol or two. The malaise has sunk into the cracks, hovels and alleys and it broods there as the decades pass by. And it’s not that the residents of the city even avoid these places – but one of the telling indicators of one of these places will be that something will always feel off about the people you meet there.
These roads are places at which goodbyes are best said.
For Henry Miller it was the Rue du Faubourg Montmartre in Paris. For me it was the walk along La Calzada in Granada, Nicaragua in blearily sunny afternoons. Does this sound familiar to you?