Tom Misch

Sitting in a bus station this summer, amongst the dense cornfields of Idaho, I experienced music acting as a lens. It all took place on a walk to and from a White Castle:

On the walk to the White Castle, the town of Rexburg, Idaho felt lifeless. It felt like an empty vault of a great Egyptian tomb, which had long been looted of its vast treasures. I passed one lady who was planting flowers in the hood of a rusted Pontiac, it looked like it had sunken into the front of her patchy yard decades ago.

On the walk back from White Castle, now with tom Tom Misch narrating my steps, the town of Rexburg, Idaho suddenly had color. I began to better appreciate my surroundings, and the streets I had walked on before now felt like they had a place in some sort of journey. The rusted Pontiac now looked like it belonged in an art museum.