The night before trash day in suburbia rarely brings such exciting visions as this Duchampian fountain on my neighbor's curb. A tremendous storm---the first rain in many weeks---had just passed through, and the porcelain sparkled as if some great wet mythic meteorological Tidy Bowl Man had scoured everything clean. In suburbia, on the night before… Continue reading The readymades on my neighbor’s lawn; or, The ghost of Duchamp alights in North Carolina briefly and is gone.