Writing is everywhere in the Lower Ninth Ward. The faded circles, X’s and numbers spray-painted on vacant houses by search teams after the storm continue to tell their coded tales: No bodies found. Two bodies in attic. Dead dog under porch.
A board propped against a ruined church carries a hand-painted text: “Can these bones live? Behold, I will cause breath to enter you, and ye shall live.” The words, evoking an apocalyptic future, are from Ezekiel.
Sometime in October, new words began to appear. Printed on small cardboard signs, they consisted of the same three phrases: “A country road. A tree. Evening.” — an exact quotation of Beckett’s scene-setting for “Godot.”