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What I really dug came at the end of my college experience.
I graduated in a wedding dress, attended debutante balls, and had a near-constant Frappuccino as part of my polo-khaki-skirt uniform. In my youth, it seemed dangerous and full of broken metal things. The East held gang violence and puddles with needles, and the West was a Shirley Temple at the racquet club and an outing on horseback.
Buildings were abandoned, I was told it was unsafe, and I didn’t know anyone who actually lived there. I sung the angsty-teen refrain of “I have to get out of this town.” But I didn’t do that.
The merchandise will probably not appeal to your mother.
Go down the road just a piece and land in Cherokee Street: In the wake of the closed-down (haunted) Lemp Brewery is this new-ish hipster haven.
Finally, a porthole to another world spontaneously opened: The Actual City Of St. With the advent of the City Museum and City Garden (and general re-building efforts), a diverse population has begun to creep into the downtown streets. Kids can swim and play in a series of fountains and pools, there is plenty of green space for running around, and it’s an oddly artsy-hip retreat.