Established 1894

Established 1894

By Sophie Ambro

When the little town established in 1894 Main Street was only a dirt road. The dust from it would fill the air as the horse drawn carriages brought the farmers down to the harbor. They were the only ones in the town that used the road. They brought their cows down to the water to drink. The sides of the roads were empty and the townspeople felt it was useless.

It all changed in 1920 when the government added the Eighteenth Amendment to the Constitution. This prohibited the buying and selling of alcohol in the United States. From this speakeasies were developed. One speakeasy sprung up underneath a house on Main Street in the little town. The men used the sewage drain to smuggle alcohol under the streets from the harbor to the illegal bar. Through the mutual corruption of all the people in the town, a community was born.

In 1933 the Twenty-first Amendment put an end to prohibition. Speakeasies all across the country came out of hiding and the one under Main Street was no exception. The street had its first business. As Main Street started to get more and more action more and more businesses started to open. It soon became a destination for the local family owned and operated businesses. There was a diner, a market, a salon, and much more that lead to the popularity it had for a certain time.

The street prospered for many years but as the saying goes: all good things must come to an end. The need for national chains outgrew the need for the local businesses. Once the first building went vacant it was like the plague took over the street until there was nothing left but hollow shells of walls and windows. The parking lots that once had people fighting for spaces became overgrown with weeds until the only thing distinguishing it from a savaged field was the graffiti on the buildings that surrounded it.

The street had gone back to the empty pavement it once was and this time there is nothing that will help it.

Humans by Cheyenne Brooks

We take up space, inconveniencing one another with our existence. All the sounds of impatience and exasperation can be heard: beeping, honking, and just plain noise. Time waits for no one; yet, we wait at lights so people can walk and others can drive. No one has a minute to spare for anyone else and our restlessness gets the best of us. Our being is someone else’s vexation, and whether or not we are aware, the majority of us do not care. We just make noise until the pain of other people’s presence passes. We like to be in charge of any and every situation. Imperialists at heart. We are astute and at times merciless; our abilities to manipulate people are astounding. We only care about our own advantage, and the notion of survival of the fittest is what some of us are forced to live by in order to get survive in this world. We are prejudice, and we like to believe we are superior in any way we can. Everyone loves America. We are great in so many ways: we are the smart ones, we are the rich ones, we are the superior ones. Aren’t we? This is someone’s idea of American pride; however, this is just pure ignorance. If you don’t speak English in America, you are stupid; you will always be lost, surrounded by people whom you can’t understand and who can’t understand you. Why don’t immigrants and other non-speakers learn the language instead of being lost all the time? When traveling to other countries, we are the foreigners. Why haven’t we learned the languages and customs of others? We are the ones who are lost, and stupid. Who is inferior now?

Rushing

Shivering. Their bodies vibrate and hum and if it was quiet enough you would hear a collective chatter of teeth. But that’s only for those who have time to be cold, that’s for the people who shuffle their feet over the slushy ground. Then there are those who rush, the fast movers, those who have no time to be cold, because they feel time isn’t on their side. They always have to be there, wherever there is. They don't stop to admire the trees without leaves, bending to the wind, creating a soft melody, or the architecture of a building that holds more stories than anyone in their lifetime ever will. They focus on the "then", never the now. They run through the streets avoiding the droplets that fall from the awning and don't take in a single sight. They don't see the artwork that was plastered on the decrepit building, how someone risked their life to tell a story with spray paint, they don't see the thousands of flowers that are lined up at stands waiting to be sold and cared for, or the children who are playing on the swings at the playground. Don't grow up. Don't rush.

Pictures

It’s 1974. The air is suffocated by rain and smells of smoke. You could smell the French fries that have just been made over at Big Daddy’s. Drip, Drip, Drip. Salty water falls gently off the edges of chairs and tables. They use the chairs as a slide and head down into the pool of water.  Children’s laughter lingers near the apple cider stations. They enjoy the feeling they get when the warmth of the cup hits their frozen fingers. They run back to their loved ones and pass near the protestors. These big people, in the eyes of the children, hold signs and walk up and down the dirty, gum inhabited street. The dim lighting illuminates their signs that read: “I didn’t give up”. The wind causes everyone to swirl and loose track of their dancing feet. Everyone switches walking paths and you can barley identify faces. Their hair shields them from the forceful wind. The wind sings back and takes belongings that were not held tight enough by their owners. Polaroid pictures, that were claimed by wind, lie along the cold floor. It’s not hard to notice that a descendant of someone who had experienced the bombing of either Hiroshima or Nagasaki lies close.
A man holding dandelions picks up one of the pictures and puts it in his fur pocket. He meets a tall lady over by his music station and rubs his nose against hers. As the man gazes into her eyes, he loses track of the picture. After some time has passed, a young boy is eager to grab the picture off the floor.  He is dressed in skull pants and wears a hat that kisses his eyelids. He brings the picture over to his friend who is seated around a pretzel station. “I’ll take a pretzel, please.” As the words flow out of his mouth, rain begins to knock on the street grounds. The car lights blind him and it causes him to fall down on the sidewalk. He rushes home and places his hand in his pocket. No picture. As he looks out his window he begins to see a girl looking at his picture right outside his house. He is furious but believes that the picture never wanted to be found and lets the girl keep it. She makes sure to keep the picture close and passes by many different kinds of people. She begins to overhear conversations that consist of: “ ‘were in love’ ”, “ ‘Oh that place is fantastic’ ”,  “ ‘Best sushi ever’ ”. The girl arrives home and finds that she has successfully has kept the picture safe.

Its 1978. The girl, in college now, decides to go back to the sight where she had found the picture. She only felt it were right to do this. She lies the picture down where it was found and runs away. An older boy wearing skull pants walked out of his home and was amazed when he saw it. “My picture,” he cried. Just like the girl before him, he felt it was right to take the picture back to where he had found it. The smell of french fries began to run up his nostrils and the smoke was so thick that he could barely see. He placed the picture off to the side of the music station. The older man looks at the picture. He puts on his glasses and notices the picture. He shakes his head and frames it and puts it on his counter. Its 1979. A man who looks as if he has been lost comes over to the music station. He buys a soda and looks at the picture on the counter. He walks away slowly as he begins to realize that this picture looks fairly familiar. “That picture.. is mine…” he says as he runs to the picture.

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