United States of Asphalt

United States of Asphalt, by Lev Rukhin

It was the Fourth of July. The scent of lighter fluid and burnt chicken, people shuffling about the streets with cases of cheap American beer, and a swell of patriotism in the hot summer air. I paced a stride along the street, glancing at my feet swing out from under me. My attention fell on the asphalt beneath me—the wallpaper array of gravel, petroleum, half-eaten candy bars, gossamers of cracks, skid marks. I followed a rift in the asphalt, jumping up and down like a musical scale, changing in tone and in depth. I got on my motorcycle and rode a circle around Los Angeles, chasing the cracks in the asphalt with my camera by the side of a freeway, in the center of an alleyway, down a mysterious cul- de-sacs, to create a map of the United States.