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Salvaging The Future

Michael Helm On The Virtues Of Junk

Practically, managing a salvage yard is a great way to make a living because there is so much waste in this culture. Fifteen years ago, I dropped out of corporate life and got into salvage — actually, it was called junk back then.

The Homeless

I was just rousted off the floor of Grand Central Station by two cops, one of each race. It didn’t occur to me to say, “But I’m waiting for the train to Poughkeepsie!”

Signs And Symbols

The Alphabet Lady; a broad, black, shiny feather; a penny on the tip of the lion’s nose

Two Worlds

A left-hand turn; a dew-laced web; a piece of blue paper, folded once

The Heavenly Smile Studio

Eddie thought. “And does The Man With No Head ever go to the photographer?” “Yes.” “And when the photographer asks him to smile?” “He spreads his arms.”

A Spell Without Books

Austin is built on a series of criss-crossing fault lines, the intersections of which cause parts of the city to sag into what might be called “seeps” or “sucks” — places where the earth breathes in and out, sometimes seeping and sometimes sucking.

A Curious Episode

The Madrid North Train Station was a newly-built but not fully operational facility, well heated, and very clean. Under the building, almost as an afterthought, were located the train platforms. The workmen had retired for the day by the time I arrived at six p.m. I placed my bags in a coin locker tucked away in a corner of the waiting area’s great expanse, then I cashed a traveler’s check and bought a ticket for San Sebastian. I had a three-hour wait and found a bench where I could stretch out, write a few letters, and, possibly, catch a nap in anticipation of my second overnight journey in as many nights.

The Reader Behind The Writer

A great masterpiece might sit there beside some obscure and shoddy effort. Schools and universities told you what books were great and worthy and famous; a library sat there mutely and let you decide.

Gold And Black

Then he turns to me, and direct as an arrow says, “You gonna be there?” (This, I thought, is what they refer to in books as “the moment of truth.”) My heart was creeping up my esophagus like an inchworm; but my tongue would not unwind.

Three Cities

A dozen men sit in comfortless plastic chairs staring at the floor. No one speaks. No one moves. Sunlight pours through yellow blinds into a room without time. It is clear that one is among the damned.