Steel, Michigan was a mess. No, it was a disaster. A war came over town and left behind a wreck, a shadow of what it used to be.

Desolate and deserted, bits of paper and plastic littered the main street. Garbage bags filled every corner of every side street. These people-turned-animals desperately needed a garbageman.

I dared to look at the puddles of brown stuff near the curb. Dog poop, totally disgusting.

Not just the floors but even the walls of the houses and our small library suffered the onslaught of filth and destruction. Some obscene graffiti covered everything in shades of brown paint. No, wait. That was no paint!

What have you done to my town? I stood with tears in my eyes. They stained my beautiful book haven with some human’s shi—wastes! Why did you do this?

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It gets worse. Broken furniture stuck out of the window, partially covered by shredded curtains. Violent much? They burned the grocery market, left it bare. They even riddled the remaining wall with bullet holes. Some homes looked wild with overgrown ivy on them. The brown stuff was fresh with a side of flies.

I sighed and swallowed my bitterness, ignored my crushed soul, and started to walk again.

As I walked down the main street, the smell of human excrement assaulted my nose. The sight of the damage was worse. This was not how we left the town.

In all my years, summer in Steel meant the sweet aroma of cherry and blueberry pies, not the smell of feces. The fruity fragrance would waft and permeate into the streets. I would be drooling at the memory if it weren’t for the current stench.

This was all sorts of wrong. Nothing about this place felt like home. Of course, the houses stood, but nothing else was the same.