NOTIONS: Alone in the urban desert on Martin Luther King Day
It’s Martin Luther King Monday. The clock is pushing 5 p.m. And a bitter breeze bites my face as I pump petrol at a Speedway station on Binford Boulevard. I look around at the drab Indiana sky and the drab leafless trees and the drab flat landscape. And I wonder whether the world is really this drab or if it’s just me. Behind me, somewhere on Interstate 69, my sons Austin and Zach are heading northeast in their little Saturn…