When I lived in Denver, my apt/studio was very near one of the city's drunk tanks. The facility sat behind my place, in the same block and offered no shortage of amusements in my six years there. When I first moved in I was puzzled by the human sized dog catcher's truck that constantly pulled into the alley adjacent to my building. Eventually, the truck was upgraded to one that had six or eight individual cells in the cargo box, each with its own private door. In the early days of my residency, there were still relatively few folks who called the neighborhood home, and given its proximity to downtown, the coming of evening saw a mini exodus of peoples from the area. There were nights (particulary Fridays) when the scene took on the semblance of a zombie flick with inebriants making there way from points unknown to this central point as if called by some unknown beacon. One of my initial vivid memories of the area came on a walk to the nearby grocery store. One individual, propped up by a no parking sign had a very apocolyptic character. Bent at the waist (almost at 90 degrees), the top of his shoulder met the sign in such away that body and pole took on the appearance of a lower case 'h'. His arms hung straight to the ground. It was so weird. So very "Dawn of the Dead." He was one of the undead - on his way, but he needed just a wee rest before making it those last two blocks.Those were good times, there on 11th Ave.
The photo above is from that time and I found it recently, thinking it a suitable New Year's Eve missive. I imagine the dumpster belonged to another apartment building on the block - which in and of itself would seem an excessive amount of beer boxes (not that the dumpster is completely full of Corona boxes. The fact that this dumpster sat in very close proximity to the drunk tank's back door put the scene over the top.
I have not explanation for this occurance. Perhaps it wasn't from some frat house apt, but an assertive hair of the dog treatment for the dt'ers.
Good Times. Happy New Year.
