I almost hate to post the first pic after my last post but it's how the days have connected. Life. As you roll into Duryea the largest headstone on the right is a memorial for my great grandparents. It's so very strange to see your own name on a headstone but there it is. I didn't know this town until I was an adult but I still feel a strong connection to it. There's not much left, especially after the last flood, but there is still so much family history. A drive through town only takes 5 minutes, maybe 10 if you go past the house and the other cemetery. The hole in the ground where Grandpa's bar was is finally filled in, that only took 75 years, but the garage is still there. That's Dad bent over picking up something important. I've taken so many photos of this empty lot but without anyone to really tell the stories it is what it is, an empty lot. There's folklore and newspaper clippings but nothing first hand. Oh how I wish I could go back in time to see whether there really was a brothel, to see whether Grandpa had alcohol during prohibition, to see how the fire really started... the stories are probably better then the truth. It's sad to see all the bars and restaurants closed, the Mo-Ritz has been for sale for so long i'm sure they'd give it to you for free if you'd actually open something in it. What happens to a town like this? How does it stay alive when even the churches are closing?