Spring sweeps over Canton in slow moving waves of sun- branches on the few carefully planted trees begin to bud beautiful white petals, clean and spotless against dirt tinted brick and unwashed windows, shedding blankets of soft confetti on hybrid cars and BMWs crowded into spots on the street sides.
The warm weather brings bees, mosquitoes, and morning joggers who smile at each other as they pass, their dogs running beside them. They stop to smell the patches of weeds that have sneaked between cement panels on the sidewalk, but are quickly ****** ahead as their ownersâ€™ heart rates begin to fall.
The jogging trail is tracked in old houses ****** over like aging women. They soak up the warmth like a sponge, their seventy year old walls continuing to peel old asbestos speckled paint beneath brand new wall paper and paneling.
Bankers and law students, doctors and nurses, barflies and models hunt them like injured pray on a mountain top- so few to feed on that when one emerges, hundreds dive for the **** but only the ones with the fattest wallets win, and can sink their teeth into the tender taste of prime real estate, a thin slice of Hip in this burgeoning yuppie haven.