Fargo, vol I
You can’t see the highway that stretches out in front of you as the wind blows snow across the road. Each mile is hard fought as you press through each gust towards a destination hidden by natural elements. There is no point in looking around; the scope of visibility is tightened to perhaps 30 or 40 feet. If it isn’t snow, it’s darkness and if not darkness then it is the lone car passing in the opposite direction, blinding you with headlamps.
Fargo was an interesting place for me. I used to get frustrated with Dakotans because they resist imposing themselves onto visitors. No amount of coaxing produces something more profound than talk of weather. Being here has taught me to skip the idles of conversation and focus on observation. Look, listen and learn.
We didn’t really spend the night in Fargo. K has a friend in a place called Valley City so we spent Saturday night there. After I checked into my Motel 6 I felt alone. All I had was a letter from Jeri. How about Rome? I kept singing to myself: some R.E.M., some Morcheeba.
The next day revealed a small house so unique that I thought my eyes lied to me when I saw its twin in a different part of the town. It looked like a turtle. The protective shield was the roof which draped almost to the ground in what I assumed was an effort against wind. Kunstler believes good architecture is aware of its surroundings and this case is a perfect example: dead of winter or dreadful summer, the turtle shell blocks the outside.
10:34:54 PM 
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