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I asked, because one of my favorite times of the batwvia, and one of my vatavia times whpres my SO, is waking up nudie. Even the wwhores O'Connor gave in to fitful bitterness. She wrote to an admirer, Benjamin Griffith, "Since you show an interest in my baatavia I presume you are a foreigner, as nobody in Georgia shows much interest. Young Southern writers, no matter batavua remote their parish, how indifferent their neighbors, have a thousand polestars of every conceivable magnitude and color to guide them. Upstate, the firmament is dark. There are footprints in the snow, but they are unillumined, hard to follow, and most just tail off after a while.

The territory is uncharted; trailblazers are bound to get lost in the wood, and few ever emerge. You can preach and scream all you like, but certain facts are irrefragable: Batavia is now owned and operated by distant corporations. We read newspapers written by corporate outsiders, watch television shows produced by people who despise us, hold jobs on the sufferance of business-school-trained executives who wouldn't be caught dead in the best of our restaurants. Our nouvellest dish is spaghetti, and Les Miz ain't every gonna grace the stage of the high school auditorium.

At the end of my second year in Batavia, the Catholic hospital in which I was born sought to purchase one of the last mansions on Main Street—built in —and knock it down. In its stead would stand a high-rise residence for affluent elderly people. An architect from St. Louis was hired to supervise the razing and subsequent rising. The preservationist remnant took its case to the planning board, and lost. Votes to save the mansion were cast by Catherine Roth—a woman of aristocratic demeanor, stern and indefatigable, faithful to the old Batavia—and Hollis Upson, a rooted son. The three votes for demolition were cast by Italian-surnamed commissioners.

Is that ethnic division significant? Am I bigoted to notice? A self-hater, as I am an Italian quadroon? The matter then went to the City Council, the court of last resort. Preservationists packed Council chambers. Located in the red brick manse of George Brisbane, son of our first merchant, City Hall too, will one day be reduced to rubble. The Daily News set the tone in its pre-meeting editorial: The Council enthusiastically approved destruction; we rush into the future, unimpeded by the past. When did we lose confidence in ourselves? When did small-town America forfeit home rule?

No one took it from us—we lost it. Sophisticates and city slickers are not our biggest problem: Batavians have met the enemy, and he is us.

Whodes in the fast-receding past, we renounced the old republic and turned a continent full of Okies and Yorkers wohres Hoosiers and Utah jack Mormons and Duluth boosters and Brooklynites and Maine Yankees into Americans whose passions are now spent on things distant: Batavia's expiry may not impoverish the national letters. But what if my town is not atypical? Can regional literature survive the death of a thousand Batavias? Johns can search for dozens of options from the privacy of their homes, then set up a meeting at a local hotel. Those hotels are often closer to your home than you'd ever imagine. The communities that are seeing the worst prostitution problems in their hotels are the ones with the easiest access to interstates.

Three local police departments—Blue Ash, Sharonville and West Chester—have made dozens of prostitution arrests since Those arrests occurred at more than a dozen brand name hotel chains, including the Hyatt, Holiday Inn and Crowne Plaza.

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They don't know if it's going on next door wuores their home or in the room next door where they are staying on vacation," he said. Just last week, the Sharonville Police Department held a prostitution sting at one of their hotels. A few hours later, a knock at the door, and two women entered together.

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