3014766

I'd like to meet:

Picture a damp, littered with the cast-outs of the last milliennium. Refrigerators, stuffed animals, shoes, original paintings on torn canvasses, photo albums, three hundred broken bicycles and toboggans and hockey stocks, TV's and microwaves, lamps and cash registers, headless Cabbage Patch Kids and enough books to start a library or a bookstore or your own education.
Now picture dozens of the country's theives and drug addicts, vagabonds and ex-cons. They're drunk, hungry and tired of running. It's getting old and getting cold, and one night they find themselves in this place, with the rest of the discards, on the edge of the world but smack in the middle of it all.
They look around and realize that everything they've been hustling for is right here: stereos and VCR's, room to move, a perfect hideout and waterfront property. They aren't way out in the lonesome countryside or the goddamn suburbs or trapped in the same old city. In fact, the city looks perfect from here-the lake, the downtown high-rises, the sun setting beneath the tallest free-standing structure in the world-it's like a picture postcard. And best of all, there are no laws and no cops-as long as they stay this side of the fence. It's all private property. No one can tell them what to do.
So they dig into a corner of the rubble for something they can use to build. There's so much, they could make anything. But for now they just throw together a few shelters using tarps and old office furniture. they buy some beer, light a fire, call it "Tent City" and decide to stay. The smoke rises for everyone to see, like a warning invitation. They drink and wait...

"Down to This" --shaughnessy bishop-stall

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