Market St Bridge / 1394 Market St
Call 720-845-5413 extension 11 to hear this dream.
There is a building built on stilts in the middle of the creek. All day & all night, inside this building, newspaper people write & typeset & print newspapers. In these newspapers, they report the daily actions of every single person. They report not only the actions of sports stars & elected officials & people seen on screens, but the daily routines of children waking for school with noisy yawns & people at cash registers scanning items & relating total prices to customers & people staring at computers all day with dry eyes & people hammering in the final nail of a raised garden bed & gazing on the wooden rectangle with pride & people lining up for a meal & people pushing themselves to do just two more & then, after those two, just two more & people honking their horns & people carrying ladders & people crawling beneath floors to fix wiring & people clicking send on an email they’re been putting off for weeks & people watching a small brown bird of incredible delicacy tap its little beak into the grass & people assembling a piece of furniture with only confusing instructions to guide them & people walking a small dog & people walking a large dog & people mowing a lawn into precisely perfect lines & people wiping dust from a shelf & then returning the framed photos of lost family to that dustless shelf & people folding towels & people nodding their heads to the beat & people giving another person the advise the other needs, advise only that one person can give & people looking at themselves in the mirror & frowning & people pointedly looking away & people holding a loved one in a tight embrace & people putting some thing into their bodies that will help them make it through the day & people slicing bread & people measuring rice with their finger & people cutting potatoes into small, perfectly equally sized cubes & the reporters report all of these events with equal gravity & wonder & detail & care. Each person’s story is a story & every story is reported here. And now the papers are fresh off the printers & the newspaper person walks through the creek, wearing tall rubber boots, & reaches up, arms extending further & further, & hands you the paper. The paper is warm. You can smell the ink. And you read all these stories, some making you laugh, some making you cry, but most just letting you know what other’s lives are like, what others do through their very few days in this world, & as you read them the ink rises off the paper in puffs of smoke. The newspaper prints each story with fire. This is why they have built their building in the middle of the creek. These tiny flames of letters & words & sentences burn on the thin newsprint paper & try to tell what a life is & then, after being read, go out.