I pull into Detroit’s Eastern Market after a long drive from New York. The hot summer sun bounces through the cobblestone streets that distinguish the neighborhood.
It’s 4:30 p.m. on a Thursday at a dive bar in Hamtramck, Michigan. Nobody is seeking anything.
It’s a dry winter morning in the far reaches of upper Manhattan. The pulse of the city slows as the temperature drops, and a patina of salt and frost dulls the hues of the streetscape.
Bushwick, a historically working-class neighborhood that is predominantly Hispanic, has hosted a flourishing artist population for decades.
From a production standpoint, Chip Flynn is an expert with fire. He doesn’t start the fires himself, of course, he has the robots he builds to do it for him.
The village of Jeffersonville sits at the western edge of New York state about eight miles from the Pennsylvania border.
A cratered cultural landscape sprawls across the North End in central Detroit. Crumbling Victorians line the streets dotted with shuttered businesses.