Lucy Allen and Alan Lucia had awkward walks that no one liked. Skunk-mashed linoleum jeans and faces decorated by death artists. Rolling like rocks down Main Street avenues, their craft a cathedral. Paroxysms of nerve damage make you uneasy. They’re greasy like bats. Ten million clay soldiers trafficking their lines of credit through Kenaston Boulevard cross-town traffic.
"Banish the word 'struggle' from your attitude and your vocabulary. All that we do now must be done in a sacred manner and in celebration.
We are the ones we have been waiting for." — Hopi elders
