The Urban Industrial Corridor Walking Tour
Armand Hammer VIII
There is something so comforting about an urban industrial corridor. People in sturdy box buildings emit foul smells in the name of circular forms, feather down products, carne fresco, taxicab repair and even the familiar whiff of horse dung from the carriage ride company stables. It is empty and busy at the same time. Displayed in factory windows are sun yellowed, two sided signs - Work Yes/Work No.
There are no power babies in carriages here, no SUVs preening toward the upscale boutique. Not that money does not exert itself, just differently. A cocky Mercedes with vanity tags in a barbed wire lot. All sorts of money exhibition down here. From the boss man's cherished family sedan to the cholo souped-up Chevy in which a shift worker listens to a monster stereo.
Everyone is here in the name of commerce. But it is too messy and too busy to be too much about display. Trucks keep backing, rebacking then finally backing onto loading docks. They disgorge or demand, and nobody wants to hear a story about why you are not ready. No slackers work in the industrial corridor. Somebody needs this 30 gallons of beef lard and 4 lambs right now. So the trucks chortle stinky diesel and clog the streets. Smart cars avoid the industrial corridor like the plague. A truck idles in the middle of the street to tell a lengthy and crude joke to a guy in a white smock and plastic head covering. Only after pitchforks load him up and the punch line is uttered is he on his way.
When you walk through an industrial corridor always stop and look four ways at intersections. The ones you really have to watch out for are the garbage trucks. These waste routers do not play. They got too many dumpster loads to deliver to the regional transfer station (stay upwind of the transfer station) to worry about pedestrians. Besides, if they run you over they just shovel you into the back and mash you to untraceable pulp.
Basically you need to step lively. It is not just the trucks, it is the street people too: the crack addicts, pallet haulers, metal scavengers and sex workers one finds along the way. Do not worry about the guys with grocery carts. They are working, no matter how nasty they look, and will not screw with you. They will however not get out of your way. Crack addicts will hassle you for money but can be ignored if you keep up a pace too brisk for their drug addled lungs. Sex workers are tempting but should be avoided. Nothing conjures a crisis of faith like fondling a hag in an alley while watching somebody clean out slurry drums.
Art freaks can be found in the crevices of an industrial corridor. They are undernourished and overstimulated and are also best avoided. But the appearance of art freaks means you should start looking for industrial sized art pieces. See if you can spot a car completely duct taped in a vacant lot, or a twenty foot paper mache' head, or a frisky stick man made of iron who forges steel with 10 foot bow tongs. There is a certain type of artist who eschews nature completely to live here. They usually smoke so much they do not consider the effluent from the plastics factory to be unduly noxious. They also like big industrial rooms so they can finally get the monkey out of their head and onto the wall. Then get a bunch of other art freaks to come over, drink beer and leer at it.
The industrial corridor always has a varied geography. Like a foul and torpid river on which scrap barges chug towards the sea. Or an appalling canyon of train yard, dirt lots stitched up with rail ties. Or an upright bridge blocking the sun, lowered at midnight to convey fruit trains from California, potash from Virginia and bitumen from Ohio.
At some point you want to turn off and wander to a neighborhood with houses and trees and the sounds of crows and small kids. Nothing makes one appreciate a quiet sleepy street like a tour down the old industrial corridor. After the incessant thrum of smells and shouts and that unfortunate glimpse into the meatpacking plant, it is nice to sit in some corner place and ponder from a distance the wonders of the urban industrial corridor.
##^^##
There is something so comforting about an urban industrial corridor. People in sturdy box buildings emit foul smells in the name of circular forms, feather down products, carne fresco, taxicab repair and even the familiar whiff of horse dung from the carriage ride company stables. It is empty and busy at the same time. Displayed in factory windows are sun yellowed, two sided signs - Work Yes/Work No.
There are no power babies in carriages here, no SUVs preening toward the upscale boutique. Not that money does not exert itself, just differently. A cocky Mercedes with vanity tags in a barbed wire lot. All sorts of money exhibition down here. From the boss man's cherished family sedan to the cholo souped-up Chevy in which a shift worker listens to a monster stereo.
Everyone is here in the name of commerce. But it is too messy and too busy to be too much about display. Trucks keep backing, rebacking then finally backing onto loading docks. They disgorge or demand, and nobody wants to hear a story about why you are not ready. No slackers work in the industrial corridor. Somebody needs this 30 gallons of beef lard and 4 lambs right now. So the trucks chortle stinky diesel and clog the streets. Smart cars avoid the industrial corridor like the plague. A truck idles in the middle of the street to tell a lengthy and crude joke to a guy in a white smock and plastic head covering. Only after pitchforks load him up and the punch line is uttered is he on his way.
When you walk through an industrial corridor always stop and look four ways at intersections. The ones you really have to watch out for are the garbage trucks. These waste routers do not play. They got too many dumpster loads to deliver to the regional transfer station (stay upwind of the transfer station) to worry about pedestrians. Besides, if they run you over they just shovel you into the back and mash you to untraceable pulp.
Basically you need to step lively. It is not just the trucks, it is the street people too: the crack addicts, pallet haulers, metal scavengers and sex workers one finds along the way. Do not worry about the guys with grocery carts. They are working, no matter how nasty they look, and will not screw with you. They will however not get out of your way. Crack addicts will hassle you for money but can be ignored if you keep up a pace too brisk for their drug addled lungs. Sex workers are tempting but should be avoided. Nothing conjures a crisis of faith like fondling a hag in an alley while watching somebody clean out slurry drums.
Art freaks can be found in the crevices of an industrial corridor. They are undernourished and overstimulated and are also best avoided. But the appearance of art freaks means you should start looking for industrial sized art pieces. See if you can spot a car completely duct taped in a vacant lot, or a twenty foot paper mache' head, or a frisky stick man made of iron who forges steel with 10 foot bow tongs. There is a certain type of artist who eschews nature completely to live here. They usually smoke so much they do not consider the effluent from the plastics factory to be unduly noxious. They also like big industrial rooms so they can finally get the monkey out of their head and onto the wall. Then get a bunch of other art freaks to come over, drink beer and leer at it.
The industrial corridor always has a varied geography. Like a foul and torpid river on which scrap barges chug towards the sea. Or an appalling canyon of train yard, dirt lots stitched up with rail ties. Or an upright bridge blocking the sun, lowered at midnight to convey fruit trains from California, potash from Virginia and bitumen from Ohio.
At some point you want to turn off and wander to a neighborhood with houses and trees and the sounds of crows and small kids. Nothing makes one appreciate a quiet sleepy street like a tour down the old industrial corridor. After the incessant thrum of smells and shouts and that unfortunate glimpse into the meatpacking plant, it is nice to sit in some corner place and ponder from a distance the wonders of the urban industrial corridor.
##^^##
posted by RSS Spirit Combine | 2:25 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home