A couple of miles away from me there is a village named Vinings and it’s got my curosity by the neck. I don’t know why I’ve become so fascinated with this town. I guess town isn’t the most accurate word, it’s not big enough to be town. Vinings is anachronistic. Somehow, suburban sprawl and urban depression missed this area. While all the chain stores surround the town, with the exception of a Starbuck’s, Mom and Pop stores have managed to survive in the village proper. Tall office buildings guard the area like sentinels. From these buildings, you can see the skyline of downtown Atlanta. Traffic is surprisingly light, even during rush hour, except when the train crosses through town and then everything comes to a stand still. The train. Like old midwestern towns, the village revolves around the train which passes through the center.
Aside from the office buildings and shops, a tiny church stands ground on a crest in the village. There are houses in Vinings but to own one of these you have to be rich. Really rich. There are however, apartments, many apartments. Apartments on the hill that overlooks the village, apartments in the village, apartments around the village, apartments everywhere. Maybe that’s why the town is full of twenty and thirtysomethings. Fairly wealthy young people. The village is old, as old as the Civil War, and young, full of BMW-driving executives. The town is unusally exclusive, yet opens its sidewalks for weekend parties and shopping. It’s not Buckhead, but you can get in trouble there on a Saturday night.
So is this village just a haven for affluent yuppies or is there something more here? The village is slowly becoming intertwined with my post-college youth. We both lie somewhere between the late-night lights of the city and the conformity of suburban Atlanta. We are thriving, but uncertain about what is around the corner. We are aimless, not youth, but not old. Trying to figure out what our role is in this city. These works reflect this era of my life.