|sent from: London, UK. destnation: North York, Ontario, Canada|
Some places exist only to fill a gap on the map between one location and another. No histories are written here, though they are full of the things people need; a hospital, a school, a supermarket, a cemetery, a restaurant.
Places for love, and heartbreak, and betrayal.
A tired sheriff, a lonely mayor, a scheming mortuary man, a lascivious factory owner.
People visit rarely, stopping only because it is the place between where they were and where they want to go.
Sometimes, to give travelers the chance to mark their stay, they will sell a postcard, like this one.
This week I decided to go with multiple identical postcards (this ordinary place from a bunch my mother gave me from a trip to Germany 20 years ago) and tell a few stories set in or around it. I used this first card to set the scene, and in doing so I wanted to reach for something both mundane and yet almost mythic, and evoke some of the opening of one of my favourite books, Clive Barker’s Weaveworld, which never fails to make me shiver.