Shall I draw you a portrait of a Rust Belt Bohemian? We are storytellers who can crawl out from underneath a collapsed industry and blossom in the shadow of a phantom railroad bridge where rusty reds are as vibrant to us as daffodils in April. Gritty in character and sensibility, we notice the passage of time by virtue of our reinventions. Chief among them: the reinvention of ourselves...Some thoughts while roaming The Strip District.
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