The city’s doorways are littered with antiquated doorbells, with replacement devices glued next to faulty equipment, with buttons rubbed hollow and faceplates cracked from years of abuse, stained by the elements. What you don’t see very often is a button, like this one, busted to its core, splayed like a fetal pig in a science lab, split like a child’s toy after an especially hyperactive birthday party. In a city with more than its share of lackluster doorbells, this one is still an outlier, the button itself missing entirely, the spring-like ribbon of metal twisted beyond use, the inner casing rusted. This device is devoid of any evidence of social interaction, all the more so when taken in the broader context of the entry: the flaked paint, the cracked seams, the rusting gate. And yet there is, still, something admirable about those twin screws, with their broad, flat faces and sizable gaps. They look tight, sturdy, stalwart. The doorbell may be beyond repair, and the doorway may suggest that no one cares enough to even try, but the screws are formidable: What’s left of this doorbell will be hanging around for some time to come.
An ongoing series cross-posted from instagram.com/dsqt.