Streets of Fall River
This city opens on the darkling west in granite and somnolence, the dawn behind it— sloping its tenements to the green bridge inviting Providence through Swansea, coughing itself awake, clearing an everyday blear with coffee and cream-cakes at the Terminal Bakery on South Main Street, a little before seven. It is freezing in February. The variety stores open clutching bundles of the Herald News, reshuffling their sundries down to the last can and candy bar you can find on the next block, too. These neat squares of Fall River, a hundred of them, same citadels beyond their second century...
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