
Camelot.

Camelot.

Grain elevator. Top floor: men’s wear, lingerie, weevils, mice, rats.

Peeked behind the RX counter to catch Old Man Quimby secretly compounding the town’s headache powders out of old antelope antlers.

Set up a quick live trap to catch your polyester-slacked and bridge-addicted grandma.

Street sweets beneath the sheets.

Forcing lilac blooms under acrylic films.

Spring’s reach through the front door.