1. the last beer is sometimes the worst, when midnight vultures swoop low overhead;

    there is no place left to go.

    the week’s fight has been fought, and you reach for something useful during the lull between rounds.

    tribes of fools roll westward on the boulevard, also reaching for something:

    the shit flows steadily through the swollen sewers beneath, and the world spins in slobber and ash, while you play and poke at a madness that is uninterested in games.

    strange shadows on the walls and the overwhelming immensity of everything are the only company at this hour.

    you struggle to make sense of matters absent of sense, sucking away at the bottle, straining to hear the delicate music of moonlight, as many more lives, more or less important than yours, also hang threadbare on worn nooses through the streets

    and living rooms everywhere…

    and outside, car tires screech, a horn honks, someone yells

    and a bored moth flutters into the murky blackness.

    words and photos by jay halsey

     
  2. spent cigarette butts spot the gutters, sponging up two-day old snow melt. he waits on foot, in boots with one terrible, long story. he has been granted with the most beautiful blue eyes placed into a human skull; so much pleasant light. to stare at those eyes for too long is painful, but to not look at all is devastating. a train whistle breaks the clouds. a cop gooses it through closing railroad gates, unaffected by laws we never made. the snow begins to fall once again.

     

    words and photos by Jay Halsey

     

     
  3. the unwavering buzz of the streets can silence a man’s heart. half-spent storms point down the wrong avenues, as a dim moon hangs unnoticed and drowning in fluorescent tides. all the buses are parked, and the air weighs heavy of routine defeat. nothing new is lost. nothing new is gained. 

    words and photos by jay halsey