FRENCHTOWN
MARMALADE
Attic, basement, stairwell, casement.
The guy selling decoys has got quite
the placement : people stroll by from the
old hotel, think what to gawk at, look about,
and then manage to grab some banister and
step on up. 'Man, you see this stuff, like gravy
with paint thick as an inch.' That's about the
heights of art criticism in a place such as this.
I like it all for what it's not. Garbled tendencies,
run amok. And then, some guy starts talking
about Marie Antoinette and some treasures
left here 'It's how the town got its name, she buried
millions here somewheres about, and it ain't ever
been found. Nor she. She got buried here somewhere
too; nobody ever found the grave.' I just love these
know-it-all types. Even if what he said were to be
true, I feel he's pronounced it all
wrong.
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