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Backstreets. Homestreets. Downtown. Untown.
Slabtown. College Streets. Downbeats. Upbeats.
Freakouts. Spaced outs. Waylords. Slumlords.
Hummers. Bummers. High Heelers. Top Dealers.
Sweethearts. Cold hearts. Change for a dollar?
You hear him hollar? Year, I got a ride. Hey, no
need to hide. We one. Having fun. What’s the
bum? You not been there before? Hell, it’s easy
to score. One for two. Three for four. Just draw
it, man, you doin’ your work — what’s the beef?
It’s your own. You got it down. It’s the street.
Ralph Ivy is in his 70s and he is gesturing still. Still talking, looking and wondering. He is still writing about it and drawing about it. Whatever catches the mood. It is the only way he knows to deal with life. He is an artist and he does what he does.
Object(s) to bring back to life: “Ashtrays! Always available. Waiting for elevator. Sipping coffee. Reading at the library. Leaning back in the bus. I want ashtrays! It’s hard to remain 50’s “hip” and flip a butt aside to light another – when all I get is emptiness and disdainful stares. Oh, well… (Ah, wail…) Life in America.”