The air con parked like a small car beneath the window that gives me dirty visions of America. This land aches beneath the weight of its own divided spectacle. Hotel rooms lined with hot buttered pancakes and 42 channel panoramas reflect any shadows from the neighborhood I strolled through this afternoon where every second house was a public auction or unsafe and the local rehab center charity center life center was closing next month. It begs the question, what happened? I saw it chalked upon a battered door today, Viva La Revolucion!! But nobody appeared to be home.