Nevada, route 95—Playmate Ranch. Well back from the road but unscreened by even parched landscaping. Labeled on its roof—for access by private planes? Faded pink and white. Feeble attempt at classical design with (probably plastic) Greek pillars surrounding what appear to be taped-together mobile modules. A single red light protruding from the roof—we’ve not driven by at night to know if it blinks. Parked stretch limo, no other vehicle in sight–Maybe there’s hidden worker and customer parking in the back, because I suspect not everyone who comes here wants identification visible. On magnification, a red neon “open” sign partly visible in a window on the far right.
Yet we have gone on living,
Living and partly living
Murder in the Cathedral T.S. Eliot