by Michael Steven
United Arab Emirates
Blue traces of Luminol spray cover the smashed display cabinets;
Interpol agents interrogate the traumatised store manager.
Holding a black attaché case, the fence boards a flight to Antwerp.
Düsseldorf, North Rhine-Westphalia, Germany
There are no tours of the Luftschutzbunker. It was here, in the
terrible summer of 1972,
four-piece instrumental band, German Oak, recorded their
eponymous third album.
Only twelve copies sold. Among collectors of krautrock it is lauded
as a seminal work.
Henderson, West Auckland, New Zealand
Ghosts circle the ceiling of his skull. He fills the glass pipe again
was that a police siren or was it the wail of a banshee?
The things he thought happened yesterday happened a week ago.
Chechnya, North Caucasus, Russia
Of Anatoly Vadim, the man formerly employed to guard missile
silos: no records exist.
They disappeared along with several nuclear warheads. It is entirely
plausible these were sold to organized crime groups. After years of no pay,
he’d run out of rubles.
Belfast, Northern Ireland, Ireland
The mood is somber tonight in O’Halloran’s Bar. Niall and Seamus
sup their dark draughts slowly. Beyond the heavy oak door
is the shipyard, the burnt-out cars, the sulfuric tang of spent
Blanes Campground, Costa Brava, Spain
After the Feast of Santa Anna and Saint Joaquin, a woman runs to
the ablutions block.
Unbeknown to her, she passes the shack where former custodian,
drafted his first novels. How could she know? There is no statue or
gold memorial plaque.
Baltimore, Maryland, United States of America
Smoke still rises from its chimneys, but the steel works were closed
Oblivion is the growth industry; corner boys peddle today’s product.
An addict slumps in an armchair after the warm thump of hard
Kings Cross, Sydney, Australia
Where the flâneur once strolled, synthesizing the death of a friend
and the harbour
into his most famous poem. Now swarthy men, wearing black
and sunglasses, move between the bars and vice clubs, collecting
Tijuana, Baja Peninsula, Mexico
In a non-descript alleyway two blocks south of the Delegación
behind a trestle stall of AK-47s and Glock pistols, Hernando
fans himself with a comic book. A devout Catholic, he dotes on his