As we traveled to New Orleans we limited ourselves to secondary roads. On our way back after filming we would return using only Interstate roads. The contrast in personal experience with each set of rules would eventually be part of the film.

Moving silently through the back roads of the country through towns such as Carter (pop. 106) and Arco (pop. 600+-) it occurred to me how much of our collective American past has been lost.

Looking around me I saw boarded up gas stations, abandoned city streets and an empty playground covered in a light dusting of snow. I had to ask myself, what industry could possibly keep the remaining people here?

Arco, situated on a high cold plateau in central Idaho must be at least two hours from any other medium sized town.

After finishing our meal at Pickle’s Place, a small local diner, we struck up a conversation with the waiter.

Dressed in black with several facial piercings I immediately took him as a goth or heavy metal fan at the very least. He told us how he had tried to move to Boise, ‘the big city’ he called it, but eventually drifted back to Arco, defeated by the immensity and strangeness of a larger, busier environment.

He didn’t feel comfortable in Boise, so after giving it a go right out of college, he packed up and returned to Arco to start a record label and promote his band called ‘The Local Misfits.’

Behind him standing in a corner was a surly looking guy who paced around drinking coffee as we talked to the waiter.

As we paid our tab to leave, I heard the sound of a walkie-talkie in his jacket. He put the coffee down and answered his radio.

It turns out that this guy is one of the remaining firemen in the town. Before leaving to answer a call he comes over to talk. I notice his shirt and ask to take his picture.

I liked his shirt.

The next day we hit the road, continuing on our way to New Orleans, silently moving along the forgotten parts of America.

- Kirk