Of the 18 models kept in Baltimore, six are freestanding constructs with exteriors as well as interiors (in Barn, for example, a man has apparently hanged himself in an outhouse. The pail standing outside by the water pump is a crucial piece of evidence). The remaining 12, most of the interiors of single rooms, are displayed behind glass like objects at a jeweller’s. Insured for $100,000 each, these 18 Nutshells are not accessible to the public (though anyone who can demonstrate a professional interest may arrange a private viewing), and the series will never be split up. But Wellcome Collection, a science-based museum in London, has managed to secure an additional Nutshell that was in Lee’s New Hampshire home and is now in the collection of the Bethlehem Heritage Society, also in New Hampshire. Showing a man who has apparently drunk himself to death, this will feature in Wellcome Collection’s new exhibition on forensic medicine, allowing the British public to peer into the strange world of the woman of whom Erle Stanley Gardner, her friend and the creator of Perry Mason, said, ‘I don’t believe she has ever overlooked a detail in her life.’
scraped up shins, ringing ears, burnt throats. freezing winds, cigarette smoke curling like scarves around our faces. rooms full of friends, cats winding between our legs, roasting air and crackling radio inside his car, kisses, kisses, kisses.
I generally excited about everything that’s posted on Tattoo Snob, but I’m really excited about my interview with Dave Wah. Dave has been killing it for a long time, and he recently opened Stay Humble Tattoo Company in Baltimore, Maryland. I shot
Sometimes, the people you’d least expect are those who do the most. People like Tony Simmons, a homeless man in Baltimore who helps others get off the street. Simmons says he does it as much for himself as for anyone else.
Simmons is 53 years old and a former Marine. He’s also a former heroin addict and drug runner and was in and out of jail. Eventually, he hit rock bottom — homeless, penniless, alienated from family and friends.
Two years ago, he says, he was afraid he might die if he didn’t pull himself up. Even then, he knew what he had to do.
Today, Simmons has gotten much of himself back. He’s the unofficial go-to person for many of Baltimore’s 3,000 homeless residents, people like the bundled up men and women who come to the Health Care for the Homeless clinic downtown to get medical treatment and other services or to escape the cold. Simmons is stationed at the front door, volunteering at a help desk that he helped set up. He hands out fliers for a free dinner at a local church, provides referrals to food pantries and other services in the city, and gives plenty of advice — and hugs.