Silver Street

          The rain was cold and from the north. It was hail-edged as the wind blew it in slanting curtains over the stockyards to stir old stenches and wash them toward the river. It pelted hardened drops on the glass surface of  U..S 28 and blew in gusts over the shack-studded flats between the river and Silver Street, where it painted the ageing buildings of the slums a lead gray that was broken only by the red flicker of bar lights and the occasional yellow eyes of a passing car.

Silver Street
Richard Johnson
1968