Underneath the I-95 in the River Ward section of North Philadelphia is an art exhibit exclusive to those who would never be allowed into an upscale art museum or a fancy gallery. Collages made entirely of newspapers spanning from March to September of 2020 were painstakingly crafted, then pasted onto the giant pillars under the I-95 overpass.  The artist is unknown, but I suspect they were one of the itinerant souls often seen in my neighborhood, moving from encampment to tent to bare mattress to abandoned building to el station. People sometimes sleep under 1-95 after the sun goes down. Someone had to collect the newspapers, had to find a way to make them stick to the concrete, had to form the connections between image and word and thought, had to find the energy in-between fixes to make this statement, this summary of 2020’s totalizing strangeness. I took photographs of these collages in early September of 2020.  Although I focused on certain sections of the collages and certain intersections between words and phrases and images and experimented with color and contrast and size and dimension, the true creator of this artwork may be shaking with withdrawal in a drained pool or outside a boarded-up storefront.  They may be crowded into a jail cell full of gasping coughs, or they may be wandering Kensington Avenue, up and down, waiting for the right time to break into an abando.  They may be under the overpass, laying on a blue mattress, reading the newspaper under the dim glow of passing headlights.  They may be blue in the face, waiting for Narcan that never came. The newspapers have faded during the past eight months, but they are still there, ragged, and the pillars holding up the highway have yet to crumble, and so the cars still drive overhead, not seeing the people underneath laying plain what is hidden in the papers that the News would have us buy.