We exchanged patently insincere pleasantries, and I proceeded to the case to select my babies. Meanwhile Bluegill stepped through the door, and for a brief moment the progressives outnumbered the regressive two to one.
The moment quickly passed, and as we exited onto Pearl Street I looked straight across at the parking lot currently owned by one of the slumlord Gregory gang, recalling early childhood memories of the post office that used to stand there until it was leveled by an earlier generation of movers and shakers who couldn't be bothered with tiresome tasks like thinking.
And so less than fifty years separates the last sunrise for an example of public architecture that signifies an ascendant city’s willingness to succeed, from the sunset decline gleefully presided over by semi-literate hack politicians and their "property investor" paymasters.
Strange place, this.
But the cigar was quite good.
Photo credit: www.epodunk.com