This Land

Here's Dan Barry from Sunday: Four city workers set out this morning to whack the weeds sprouting several inches high from the deserted downtown sidewalks. With machines whining, they inch down Eighth Street, trimming in front of the grand Gem Theater, empty, in front of the florist's, empty, around the entranceway tiles that spell out the name of Michelson, the jeweler, empty.

They make their way to Commercial Avenue, where rows of old buildings stand vacant or abandoned. Behind the brick facades, which evoke a silent movie set waiting still for the shout of "Action!," sunlight pours through collapsed ceilings, and trees grow from broken floors.

If inclined, the workers could step into a trashed old tavern, there before their great-grandfathers were born, or peruse the peeling tin ceiling of an ancient shop across the street. But with appearances to maintain, they whack that purple-flowered plant rising near the lobby of Maxine's clothing store, empty.

The small city of Cairo does not need another wide-eyed pilgrim passing through, whispering, Oh my God. Its people have better ways of spending their time than explaining, yet again, why the place looks the way it does.