Late capitalism, post truth, small towns

The young waitress at the restaurant in Mansfield, PA when learning that we're from San Francisco says, "what are you doing here?" She asks the question like she can't believe there's a good answer, as if she didn't live and work in Mansfield, PA but lived and worked instead in San Francisco, CA and couldn't imagine traveling from northern California to rural Pennsylvania.

At a bar just outside Cleveland, OH I overhear a late middle-aged man say, talking to another man about the recent Democratic 'debates', "they think they can beat Trump." The sound of his voice suggests he's a Trump supporter.

In New York, Pennsylvania, and Ohio I begin separating small towns into two categories: ones I could live in and ones I couldn't. The small towns I could live in are small enough to be able to walk across the main street without looking. The ones I couldn't live in got a little too big at one time but have since shrunk, and their shrunkenness is the thing I like least about them even if I can walk across their main streets without looking. 

Near Smithfield, PA I stop to take a picture of a field and a red barn. The day is sunny, warm, clear. There are white clouds in the background. I stand in the middle of the road and take one picture in color and one in black-and-white.

While I'm on the road it seems like a perfectly good use of my time to look at the difference between the color photo and the black-and-white, and to really think about the difference.

What is the difference between color and black-and white photos of the same thing, the same scene? I'd to think about that some more.

Field near Smithfield, PA. June 27, 2019. Photo by author.