A river runs through it

The natives will tell you that downtown Greenville used to be as homely as a dead or dying mill city can be. That’s mighty homely, if you don’t know. Not quite the smoking ruins of Dresden or present day Detroit, but a sad, sad sight just the same.

My one and only exposure to pre-renaissance  “G-Vegas” took place in the early-80s when, for reasons long forgotten, I passed through town driving south on Main between East North Street and Augusta Road. The vacant store fronts and the conspicuous absence of people I remember vividly, but the burned out cars and feral dogs are confabulations, I’m pretty sure.

It’s much improved today.