Photo of a shipment of potatoes being stored inside of a waterfront warehouse.
On, then across the street to the Casino theater, from which the fried onions at the hot dog and hamburger stand at the entrance beckoned with as much allure as the shootem-up advertised on the marquis. Inside, admission 10 cents, hawkers sold peanuts, popcorn, candy up and down the aisle without disturbing anyone's reading of the silent movie titles. (You didn't sit too far down front, unless you didn't mind fat rats darting out of the orchestra pit over your feet to forage for dropped tidbits.)
One the same side of the street was Osky's, a souvenir shop whose tanks of baby alligators and turtles gave an odor all their own to mingle with burning incense.
Back, then, to the south side of the street past Hubbard's hardware store, where an unsold grindstone had stood so long out front that the top side of it had been worn flat by people pausing to sharpen pocket knives.