There is a sense of emergency here, a quiet revolution. Slowly, these bricks that once held businesses and homes are becoming depopulated. Only the fray remains. The core has been effectively drained of its vitality, a box store mall to the north has become the surrogate town center. A city marked with immense grain elevators dwarfing those we are accustomed to, or were accustomed to, on the praries. These giants shall remain as a testament to the economic prosperity of a thriving post war grain port, a proverbial hub of industrial movement. The waterfront is littered with these behemoths, the last initiative to dismantle one of the out-of-service structures, took nearly ten years to complete, and was wrought with increasing expense, a project that no one here will attempt again.

In this alley the spirits still walk, they make their way to the elevators, to the mills and to the mines. These sites of 'work' are now closing or closed, the end result is always the same. Without viable industry, industry does not survive. People are forced to choose a home that they know and love, or a future somewhere else. Most point themselves towards the east, some to the west, and some hang on to what they have here, the certainty of a fifty thousand dollar job a year is long gone. At this level, the town is glazed with formaldehyde, rendering all that is, into an adhock museum. These bricks shall remain, their purpose lost, the decay spreads, and barrel fires keep more than old mens hands warm.