My rusted Pontiac bounced from pothole to pothole and swung into the factory lot. Another overcast day, all dirty snow and no sun. In Northeast Ohio, pessimism is the great common denominator—hoping for sunshine on a winter’s day is as fruitless as wishing upon a star, expecting a quiet lunch break, or rooting for the Browns . . .
You flatten your body across the bed. The early afternoon sunlight feathers over you. You grant it permission . . .
Don’t miss Akashic authors in NYC this September! Click for information on individual events and on the Brooklyn Book Festival.
To celebrate the release of Chicago Noir: The Classics, the latest in Akashic’s Noir Series, we’re pleased to give you a look at the history of noir and crime writing in Chicago with editor Joe Meno’s introduction, “Language of Shadows.”
I used to photograph the ruin. The historic Packard Plant had become my forty-acre inspiration in the heart of Detroit. What was once the grandest and most industrious automotive facility of the early twentieth century had corroded into a sprawling wasteland, and I captured it all through my camera lens . . .
We drove as far as we could and abandoned the car when the gas ran out . . .
The guy’s Craigslist ad was exactly what I was hoping to find that night . . .
This happened at the Market Street garage . . .