“The Ghetto”
“The Ghetto”

“The Ghetto”

After only two nights in Limestone City I can see what Frederick Madrigal neglected to tell us. Whole streets, whole blocks, whole neighbourhoods are filled with student housing. He didn’t ever remark on the number of nineteen-year-olds lounging on porch roofs. He overlooked the awe-inspiring debris of trashed furniture on sidewalks and in driveways: broken pressboard shelving, soggy sofas, tilted lamp stands. He did not once count the number of empty pizza boxes overflowing their recycling containers. He steadfastly turned his gaze away from such vast quantities of beer bottles, cans, and kegs—more on view in 24 hours than I have seen, I think, in my entire life.

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