Downtown, where Main intersects Main you'll see the last living tissue of a breathing bazaar. They weighed down her chest with bricks and girders. It's a wonder she breathes at all. - Wander too far in any direction and you're sure to see the husks of once proud and bustling businesses. Abandoned sanctums of mortar and majesty. Scars of the Midwest etched as constants in our mind. Dusty and silent since the cradle. - The theaters are bedeviled with dolled up haunts who just wandered over from Greenwood to catch the matinee. Management still leaves the lights on for kicks after hours to throw off their sleep schedules while they wait for the feature to start. Up all night, sleep all day; they read by neon and slumber under Sol. Here I am, left lounging in The Devil's Chair. Crickets keep quavering. - Underneath the Franklin Street overpass sleeps a family bound by naught. They watch in dawn's light as the few pedestrian that traverse Cerro Gordo advert their eyes as some sort of silent symbol of respect for their situation. It's as if the very stare of a privileged man could drain 'til depleted. They never ask for anything, they just wade it out and listen to the cars overhead, the train-clock's trumpet, and the heartbeats in between. - Leaks are patched, potholes filled, and yet we're still loosing blood; becoming beguiled. So many stray cats in the civilian savanna, aimlessly seeking names and second chances. "This premises is under police video surveillance" - hanging like ornaments from streetlamp poles. - Guarding the gates of a dwindling dominion, as the armies of Union and Grand wait in their camps for the rust to take hold of her iron veins.
Turn your head to the right for the skyline to come into view. Rise and decay. Rise and decay.