Hot town, summer in the city. . .
. . .Arts District looking not so gritty.
Ninety degrees and high humidity spawn summer
sights:
Shorts up to the crotch, socks up to the knee.
The climbing vines planted five years ago nicely
soften and green up the old brick of the sausage
house.
Businessman ambles wearing a solitary sleeve of his
jacket, the rest hanging down his back.
Urban black clothing everywhere, non-gang style.
The scruffiest strollers manage to look smart
instead of rough.
Even the tourists are not so noticeably from
Cincinnati. (Apologies to Cincinnati.)
Doesn’t seem to be a shadow in the city.
August in the Arts District, where the women are
strong, the men are handsome, and the pedestrians
are above average.
Tags: Self satisfaction is so obnoxious,
but feels so good.
Used to be where the non-elite meet and greet.
Beware, times could change again.
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