Neat little houses. Short streets going nowhere. A block of businesses that had seen better days. You drove through Kingsley to get to Traverse City, going north, or down to southern Michigan. There wasn’t much reason to stop as you made the turn at the blinker, except that life there went on just fine without tourists or the flourishes of arugula salads and cappuccino shops. Jimmy Little’s house was a mile out of town, set back under tall blue spruce that had almost overgrown the gravel driveway. The house was yellow, with white trim. A yellow breezeway connected the main part of the small house with a yellow garage. In the front flowerbed, now filled with dying roses, was a bend-over—one of those board rear ends of a female gardener showing off frilly underpants. I hadn’t seen a bend-over in years. There was a heart-shaped WELCOME sign next to the front door and a pinecone wreath around the welcome sign. Somebody in the house was either into crafts, or was a devotee of summer craft shows.
What do You think about Dead Sleeping Shaman (2010)?
