Bisbee, Arizona is an old mining town, though now it’s more of an artist colony. Galleries, coffee shops, brew pubs, and funky little stores line the streets, while renovated miner shacks crawl up the hill from downtown. (Which is tiny – you can cover Bisbee in a day, and you should. It’s a charmer.)
Everything seems to be brightly painted or artistically rendered, and I fell in love with this entryway to someone’s house.
I’d like two angels welcoming me home every day, wouldn’t you? Though after a long night at the pub I might come home and be scared to death, thinking they weren’t welcoming me but were in fact about to swoop down and carry me off to their evil-winged-creature lair, and I’d die of fright, only to be found the next day lying next to the Dead End sign, by someone walking their dog, and the person – after calling 911, this person is no savage – would nod and give a sad smile, saying to the dog, See, Bowser? See the irony?
Bowser would give my corpse a respectful sniff as if to say, Yes. Yes, I see it. Now, give me a cookie.