After they tore down Novac Noury's oddball and historic building, what remains?
A month ago, there was this ragged chunk of facade, still with hearts and arrows carved into it--reminders of the RSVP Club--hunkered down below the glassy hulk of the Standard Hotel, where a chandelier shines in the utmost flight.
The first floor ceiling still stood. A lone worker tore it apart, using his bare hands to shred what was left.
Next door, a ghostly remnant of the old meatmarket glowed golden in the light from a caged bulb. GOLDEN PACKING INC., CO. said the transom glass, webbed with chicken wire.
Today, the whole building is gone, cut down to the mud. Only Noury's graffiti continues to point out a massive crack he claims was caused by the Standard's construction.
The hearts and arrows have been ripped away. And unless that plywood is protecting it, we've even lost GOLDEN PACKING. What happened to the window, a wayward slip of the jackhammer? There's nothing to see here anymore. The last few artifacts, lost bits and pieces of a decimated civilization, have been all yanked out.