Re: Cincinnati Banks: Its Official
True story: friends of mine moved to Cincinnati after an adulthood away. Accustomed to cities, they moved downtown, and one weekend morning decided to visit Findlay market since they'd heard it was the downtown thing to do. She was living in the old Shilito's building so they thought they could walk there easily.
They start on their trek north, directly through OTR, and pretty quickly become lost. A drug dealer approaches them. These kids are mid-20s, both strawberry blond, extremely round-faced and innocent-looking. The dealer asks them what they're looking for and goes through his list of options. They're a bit taken aback and say, no, we're just trying to get to the market.
The dealer is appalled. He asks them what the hell they're doing walking through this neighborhood, and proceeds to grab them by the arm and escort them down to the market so that no one else gives them any trouble.
I have no desire to romanticize a neighborhood with serious troubles, and sure, on another day, these kids might have gotten in some serious trouble. But there's a part of me that can't help but take note of -- and love -- a city where even the drug dealers are willing to help the tourists. It's not as terrifying out there as we think.
There is no such thing as a pitching prospect.