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Fairport WA

(As told in "the Nature of Poetry", which is yet to be published)

Let me tell you about Fairport.

Fairport wants to be called a city. It has one twelve story building, a bunch of smaller ones, and Hugh’s Underground, which, as Ian put it, is four floors of latte drinking madness. It also has Fairport Community College (a small faction of the alumni of F.C.C. rebelliously own sweatshirts with the letters “FU!” emblazoned on them. It might as well be called a university, it’s so big. But the board of directors like their acronym, so they’re going to keep it a bit longer.) Oh, and Fairport’s Bureau of Tourism has delusions of grandeur.

People have been living on the land where Fairport is built for thousands of years. European settlers have been there roughly a hundred and fifty years. The city itself just turned a century old. It city terms, the place is still in its adolescence. And the people seem to know it. But the Bureau of Tourism seems fixated on the idea of History. There’s historic this, and historic that, and everything that is labeled “historic” in Fairport is less than ten years old. Everything that is truly old in Fairport can be found on the street, dilapidated and defended to the death by a single activist who’s voice is lost in the din of seagulls crying in the wind.

And like so many of its inhabitants, I didn’t so much find Fairport as it found me. I was drawn to the place because of the weather patterns. Because Fairport is located on the nexus of three different Puget Sound weather systems, there are a number of standing waves perfect for housing the complex system that is the soul of one of the DragonPeople. It just so happens that its eventual location on I5 between Vancouver B.C. and Seattle, with a nationally renowned community college, means that Fairport’s culture is also like its weather. If you don’t like what people are saying, cross the street, it’ll be different over there.


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