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El Dorado . . .

So much lost in time. The color and swoosh of bawdy girls, raucous saloon laughter, the scent of steamed beer and sweet cigars, the bronze glitter of spittoons lined up on wooden sidewalks for their daily scrub down.
And by gum, free lunch could be had at Millers Saloon.

I suspect many folks found what they were looking for on El Dorado Street, but such pleasures are fleeting at best. And experience has shown that for every high - there is a corresponding low.

El Dorado may be glimpsed . . . but not grasped.




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