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  • Frankfort St, east of Broadway

    Back at the mill, while waiting to be loaded onto palettes for delivery, the guys would always talk about where they wanted to end up. The Canyon of Heroes ticker tape parade was pretty high on that list, who wouldn't want to go out amid loud cheers, feted as they were thrown high in the air in unabashed celebration. I didn't think much of it, the chance of that ending is pretty near impossible. Some people say I'm a pessimist but be realistic! Sure they shred 50 tons of paper, some come from offices along Broadway, some from the plant in Red Hook, but I just didn't see how a nobody newsprint from nowhere Canada could end up there.

    I sat in a small newspaper room in Iowa for months before getting printed. I figured I would end up lining a country cabinet somewhere, turning yellow with age. Instead a woman picked up the paper in Des Moines, waiting for a layover back home to New York. She scanned the headlines, tucked me in her bag and forgot about me. Weeks later she threw me in the recycling bin after finding me forgotten, crammed down in the bottom of her work bag.

    Nestled in with all the other discarded work papers, I nestled in for a long nap. I woke to the loud sounds of machinery and before I knew it, I was flying through the air, hundreds of people lining the sidewalks and far below me the heads of the Giants passing by. Everyone was shouting and screaming and all around me was a gently falling cloud of paper confetti. I have never known such majesty before.

    We flew so far that day.

    It's been a month now, I've been resting in a patch of grass by the sidewalk. Who knows where I will go after this, I only know that after ending up in the ticker tape parade, I can go anywhere, I can be anything.
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