Escape from the brutalist architecture and not having the time or motivation to hang out in graveyards sent the mordant souls into the dead zone of post-lunch-hour downtown where much mirth and amusement was found in the humid bleakness.
"I'm kind of not liking Cleveland," a friend of mine says, having gotten out of town to other places and I get it, walking past empty storefronts, seeing undergrads harassed by homeless dudes, and the only place with a now-hiring sign is the check cashing joint. Prospect Avenue used to be lined with hookers back in the day and now there's office buildings and pawnshops, I wonder if the scuzz will return when Mr. Comic Sans builds his magic casino.
what's up Walter Benjamin?
The Education of Little Tree
Stay classy, little plastic evergreen.
If you lived here you'd be home by now.
Lurking in the doorways
My inner goth kid is still alive and well.