My blood is boiling.
Binghamton, we are better than this. I know you don't need a transplanted native of New York City to tell you that.
OK, AM, calm down.
I had gotten very fond of those dinosaurs, the ones I had blogged about last week. I had met one of the artists last Friday. These aren't nameless folks who spent countless hours on a labor of love. These are people, hardworking people. I remember parts of my conversation with the artist, too. I remember expressing the hope that her dinosaur was in a good location, because there were people ready to vandalize her work.
The vandals have now struck again. And struck. And struck. And now the project coordinator must take action.
So who is doing this? I have my suspicions. I hope I am wrong. I want to find out that the person (people) weren't natives. Please. Not natives.
What would John Hart have thought? Would he have cried for his native city? My adopted Triple Cities?
In my heart, I had predicted this would happen. And now I am right.
The pictures I posted last Friday are historic, because these dinosaurs exist no more (like this.)
Vandals. Lunchtime school brawls. (Oh yes, there is a Facebook page for the brawl, too.) I wonder if they can find the dinosaur vandals through Facebook?