Hundreds line the street in excited anticipation. A photographer, a black drape over
his head, is about to snap a picture of a skinny guy hoisting himself up onto a cross.
I have returned repeatedly throughout the process, encountering the same insults,
the same anachronistic aesthetics, the same darkness in the same unknown. It’s hard
work being stranded at the end of the industrial age with a McDonald’s meal and something
you can never really be sure is there, the most remarkable substance ever, a kind
of thunderstorm blue. But the terrible part isn’t how cold it is. No, it’s how much