People were being beaten, robbed, strangled, raped and murdered. People were hungry, sick, bored, desperate with loneliness or remorse or fear, angry, cruel, feverish, shaken by sobs. A city no worse than others, a city rich and vigorous and full of pride, a city lost and beaten and full of emptiness.
Edward Anderson is a wooden match struck in a hay strewn boxcar. Sputtering flame lights the faces of the men rocking against the walls, putting colour in their eyes, reflecting the road dust in their hair, drawing out their voices - their stories. As the fire crawls down the square stem of the match, close to the fingers that hold it, warming the tips, lighting the palm, we feel something real, and we also know that the dying wooden match is still capable of burning the place down.
introduction to Feels Like Rain