Jayme McLellan: On Hard Art, DC 1979
Jayme McLellan reflects on her personal experience with punk & the Hard Art, DC 1979 project.
Jayme McLellan reflects on her personal experience with punk & the Hard Art, DC 1979 project.
“How much is this?” the middle-aged man asked, irritated. He pointed a finger at a bunch of lacinato kale—fresh in, a chalk-marked sign indicated, from a farm outside Hickory. He had been waiting at the stand for five minutes, and was not about to wait a minute longer.
“Four-fifty,” said the man behind the table. He looked too old to still be farming, and he spoke softly. It was hard to hear him over the banjo playing nearby. The upright bass didn’t make it any easier. “That’s fresh in from Hick’ry.”
“That’s what the sign says!” replied the man as he stuffed two bunches into his tote. The WNCW logo covered the canvas bag in big blue letters that nobody could miss. “I usually do rainbow chard, but it’s disgusting this week. It looks like it’s from the SuperSaver.”
“Well, we’re the freshest,” said the farmer, smiling sweetly . . .
Every Friday, the Akashic team highlights industry news, reviews, and features from around the web. This week’s roundup comes to you from Akashic interns Melissa Bean and Gabby Balza.
Michael Reynolds of Europa Editions reports on International Crime Month!
Publishing Insider Tips: On Building a Family Business with Johnny Temple
Ian F. Svenonius will screen his short film, “What Is a Group?”, at Spectacle Theater in Brooklyn.
Alec MacKaye discusses his experience at the DC launch event for Hard Art, DC 1979.
Miss Jo ladled an extra spoonful of golden brown stew over the fat, long dumplings in the bowl before sliding it across the counter to George. His mouth watered at the sight of the red crab legs glistening in the curry. “You fix me well nice,” he said, beaming at the food.
Miss Jo beamed back at him. Her gold tooth with its tiny diamond winked at him from between her full, brown lips. “You know you does get it special,” she said. She leaned her heavy, middle-aged bust over the counter. “I go get my special later?” she whispered . . .