First Lines II

It makes me sad to look up at the crest of a building and see washed out names. Like the tug of the past is only too faint to make out. Squint if you can at that worn lettering, and imagine a past with glamour and bombast. Was it a ballroom? A jazz club? A corner bodega? Was it grand? A staple of the neighborhood? How long was it there, in its way? How often did they clean the windows? Were they open on Sundays? Did the staff welcome their customers with open arms? Or were they rude? I’ll bet they could’ve cared less if they sold any damn thing. And I’ll bet that’s why they closed in the first place. Or maybe not. There’s not much to know, but we wonder. It still makes me sad to see the washed out names. But no matter. A new place will open soon. Or perhaps it will stay vacant forever. The location isn’t great anyway.

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