Dust to Dust
I blame Basquiat. He’s where my whole Trump grave fixation started, unlikely as that sounds. It was right after the holidays—January 2, 2018, to be exact (It’s nice of iPhones to keep track of photo dates isn’t it?)—that Carolyn and I first went to Green-Wood Cemetery. Generally we were there to explore: ostentatious tombs, towering magnolias—you know the whole Emily Dickinson bit. But soon enough, we found ourselves looking for famous people, and Basquiat became our particular prey. Late in the day, with a dark chill descending, we found ourselves way in the back part of the graveyard with the gates shutting in half an hour. Our rough Internet map was proving useless. Bleak thoughts of an all-night lock-in had begun creeping in when we finally spotted the monument—small, modest,... Read more...
