Things in a small town never change, until they do. It’s not a slow transition, it’s an all at once kind of thing – an “upgrade”. All I see is the ruble of my childhood, one of the few buildings that made up the Sycamore skyline gone and, a generation from now, forgotten. They tore down my elementary school while I was still attending it, my high school before I even got there. Now down goes the mill where I took one of my first award winning photographs and the salon where I got my first haircut. I’m not a big fan of change; I think that’s a common thing among small town country folks, it’s why so many of us stay put. My heart is far too sentimental to handle looking at a pile of bricks that were once something I loved.
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