atlanta, left:
the old clermont hotel: seedy, unyielding. permanently fixed along one of the city's most beloved arteries, ponce de leon avenue. ponce, we call it. I'm certain it was something back in the day, before the drug addicts and the prostitutes got to it. you can almost see people in black felt hats and shiny shoes coming and going. it sits empty now, save for the infamous clermont lounge housed in the back. broken windows like missing teeth, paint chipped and peeling, construction signs on the marquee. the place sits and it waits. for the inevitable boutique hotel makeover. when we were first married back in 1994, we lived in an old apartment building behind the clermont and for six years, we watched the comings and goings, for six years, we collected the stories. the old clermont became a fixture in our lives, too. like that great uncle, you know the one-- mostly sour around the edges but with eyes that twinkle, sort of, if you look really hard.
amsterdam, right:
a beautiful arrow from the streets of amsterdam, story unknown. which, sometimes, is even better because then you can make up your own.
(more from joyce's point of view over at on a hazy morning//more about our twelve-week collaboration here)
