Here I sit among the ghosts of livelihoods long lost. In this apartment building, ordinary, everywhere, anywhere, mothers, best friends, bitter ex-lovers. The edifice not far from here is a testament to past; built to last, it stands unused, shrouded in the fog of future’s night. Lonely tugs travel below it, bringing sleeping giants to new grounds. And though the streets thereby are dotted sporadically by festive reminders of the season, the plywood windows and metal shutters tell the true tale. 1880 the building reads, a placard on the side stubbornly states Redevelopment! Rejuvenation! but below that, For Lease. That which once vibrated life into the weathered walls of this and other workshops has left to far reaches of this world with obscure and outlandish names. Obsolete. And so to are gone the residents who once looked out from behind the plywood down to the street below. The street is still there, sure, but only furtive eyes ensconced in locked and alarmed automobiles see it and pray for green lights. And those who do not see the beauty that once was walk it, from the dollar store to the days spot where the cops won’t be. The sad sirens of forlorn firetrucks fill the air… and the fog rolls in.