Word: junks
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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...this particular afternoon it was hot and wet out. perhaps 95 degrees. and the fourists, wearing garish T.shirts emblazoned with racy messages that they had bought in the junk shops that lined the streets, were streaming by, red and sweating. There was a mediocre jazz band playing down on the corner, loud. The band, which plays all day long on the cornrt below my friend's apartment, is run by the cotoner of New Orieans, a man named Dr.Frank Minyard who decided one day that being coroner was boring and so called some of his friends, put on a Hawaiian...
Cold Turkey. The middle portion of the movie shows Doyle trying to go cold turkey, and it is here that Hackman does some of his finest work. Many actors have tried to get under a junk ie's skin, but when Hack man weighs in, the subject might as well never have come up before. He gets it all: the desperation, the gargoyle fantasies, the sickness and the terror...
...little B & M train wheezes into the station, picks up three or four people, and heads for Boston. Early signs of construction lie along the right-of-way. Junk yards and warehouses an little further off. A solitary boxcar of the Bangor and Aroostook with a full load of potatoes peeking out an open door. The conduct appears, and collects...
...tall and athletic-looking man with springy joints, Fisher is also a connoisseur of junk-heaps, and for the past few weeks has been salvaging wooden beams from his neighbor's yard. He is building a sculpture in his kitchen. He calls it "lobster pot" and it is destined for a spot in the OCS-OCL, library, Lobster Pot is a nexus of three pier-like beams jutting up from the floor and plastered with wooden slats that look like misbegotten orange crates. Lobster Pot is ugly, but Fisher's visitor doesn't know...
With his wife of 52 years, Lee tramps along the West's interstate highways, picking up aluminum beer and soft-drink cans. "Ain't people nasty the way they throw junk all over the roadside?" said Lee last week, taking a break along the shoulder of Highway 15 in the middle of the Mojave Desert. He shuffled a half mile back down the road to a camper where his wife Grace, 72, was watching over a dozen sacks and cardboard cartons brimful with cans. "It's just terrible to see this litter," she said. "But picking...