The used bookstore on the north-west corner of Grede Street has been demolished. It was a pleasant stucco and glass faced store-front from the nineteen-thirties.
I once bought a John Cowper Powys novel from them: Porius, I remember it well, as unreadable as the shop that sold it is irreplaceable.
There's nothing there at the moment but an empty lot showcasing a big hole in the ground and bits of earth-encrusted piping. I wonder what sort of building the developers will erect in the bookstore's place?
A triumphal arch through which customers who've avoided being short-changed at the Greek Deli across the street can pass? Unlikely, although there is much need for such a feel-good structure.
Maybe a working model of the mayor's office and town hall with re-enactors and explanatory video screens so local residents can gain a better understanding of how these decisions are made? I doubt it.
Perhaps they will not build anything at all, but create a Japanese garden suitable where employees of neighboring businesses can meditate upon their imminent redundancies. Alas, there is no money for fripperies.
The vacant lot will eventually be filled by condos, of course, with banking offices on the ground floor and parking in the subterranean level. That's the sort of urban layering that modern architects seem to think provides the best return on investment.
Sure, the brusque servers in the Greek Deli always try to overcharge me, but I will miss them when they're gone, replaced by a Quick Burrito, Beef-In-A-Box, Salad Queen, or whatever God-awful fast-food chain usurps their address.
