. . .At 7:38 AM on a still-very-much-scummer, [sic] already steamy, stagnant-air-mass Friday, the 7th of September (2018), I found my freckle-flecked-forearms, 54-year-old self at the first outbound Gold Line streetcar stop in uptown Charlotte (NC, USA). A returning faux-vintage trolley passed behind my back on East Trade Street. I rechecked the time on my cheapo LG cell phone as I stood on the concrete median, staring at three, fairly-old-for-this-raze-and-replaceburg, party-walled-together, two-and-three-story buildings. I became absorbed in my thoughts (once again). That’s an odd time for that trolley to be arriving. Did it do the whole run in just eight minutes? Usually it takes twelve to thirteen. Is it not running on the quarter-hour? Maybe it no longer runs on set times. Hope it leaves soon. Already late for work. Wonder who is already there. The boss? Wonder when those charming-for-this-neopolis, [sic] bygone-era buildings encounter Mr. Wrecking Ball. Could they po. . . Read More