The End of Moreland Ave - 1
The End of Moreland Ave - 3

The End of Moreland Ave - 2

I remember the weekend visits to see my mom in that house in East Atlanta. The drive up Moreland Ave was like entering another country. From the backseat I guessed at the decayed shapes of houses and billboards beneath the kudzu. Not long after Hub Cab Daddy, I’d be on the lookout for The Foxy Lady and the badly rendered silhouettes of her on the windows.
    Everything was different there. The stuff in the fridge. The TV shows I could watch. The sidewalks felt old because they were made up of hexagonal pavers, not poured concrete. The arched doorways and crank windows and murky basement were to me like something out of Smurf Village, vaguely bygone, less than real.

Comments

isaac

The sidewalks felt old because they were made up of hexagonal pavers, not poured concrete.

Funny how these things seem so exotic when you're young. I have similar memories of older Atlanta neighborhoods: arched doorways, slightly imperfect glass in the windows, brick or concrete paver sidewalks pushed up by the roots of an oak tree. Of course, I tell myself, Atlanta was different back then (what? fifteen, twenty years?). I guess, really, I was different.

Hannah, have you ever read anything by Bernard Malamud? I'm reading an anthology of short stories right now and enjoyed "The Magic Barrel" - it could just be topical, though!

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