The Street
The Street Everyone in this town knows it was built on water and what that water carried – grain and lumber and power – west to east. Mansions stand on that history, parks and avenues fanned out like Frenchmen on parade. The only things that flow through now are themselves liquid: words, drink, hallucinations. Still, Buffalo is a queer place. Our pride perversely swells with each loss. You can hardly find us on a map now. You can hardly hear us, though wild-eyed prophets and refugees from around the globe show up daily as if in answer to a call. And we give off a musk here our sweethearts smell when they are far from home that guides them back again. Like Salem, you might think this place more myth than city, but we have long since ceased to know the difference. You can hardly see us if you’re not from here, we grow so translucent. Sherry Robbins, from Or, the Whale, BlazeVOX [books]
Sherry Robbins 