"The Road with the Factories" in Monterey, California is a poem, a filth, it has its own light, a vibrant color, it is something very ordinary but also a dream together, a nostalgia. Something scattered and concentrated, iron, brass, rust and scales, the road is full of potholes, everywhere ropes, crates of vegetables, factories for canned sardines, tenements, taverns and brothels, small shops, chemical laboratories, old hotels. Someone said that "whores, ruffians, gamblers, bastards" live on this road - meaning that people of all sorts live there. But if he looked at them from a different perspective, he might have said that "angels, saints and martyrs" live there - and he would still mean the same thing...
