It's time for a sojourn. I realised this as soon as I awoke. Since I graduated with my B.A. in psychology from you know where (departmental honors, bitch!), I eschewed the more prestigious position of teaching for america (tm) which is so damn corporate I couldn't even stand to try it. Instead it's been all about the Utica Salvation Army for me. Very few residents of this once august regional metropolis enter the latest and greatest instantiation of the Church Militant, save for those few innocent souls who like myself wish to serve their fellow man in an unpaid volunteer capacity. A mighty fortress is our quasi-warehouse! The Army brings in a lot of income that otherwise wouldn't ever grace this city because of all the people who come from you know where to shop for ironic clothing or stuff for costume parties. The revenue they bring in helps us support this city's most vibrant scene, the Underground Cafe, which is the very sort of reformation this city needs to combat the corruption of its old-time papa. Nevertheless despite the bounty we bring to those in need, the veil of tears lies heavy on this burgh. The ennobling of its human spirit occurs in tandem with the decrepitation of its physical glory. The once regnant skyline of central new york now watches its own decay, ashen-faced. The Hotel Utica has surrendered its own summits to the wrath of poverty; the Stanley is a vaudevillian necropolis scrambling for a hold, invested with no power but nostalgia. Even the bank's Constantinopolitan dome begins to gleam with tarnish. The stately pleasure of riches has departed this city for greener pastures (Syracuse). Only the churches remain unspoiled, and I know that soon too I must depart.
-Elissa O'Lincolnlog
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