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The Burning of Fry Street

Last night, one of my favorite haunts on the face of this planet vanished in a blaze of glory. Denton's cultural district is no longer. Last night, Fry Street lived up to its name.

(Image shanked from the Record-Chronicle; courtesy photo by Kimberly Berba)

My friend Chris Largen, a well-known mover and shaker among those attuned to Denton Culture, captured the blaze on film. He is putting together a documentary about the burning of Fry Street, and why these structures, nearly 100 years old, came down in this way.

This was the final stroke that ended a year-long feud between an anxious developer, hungry to install corporate outposts near the University, and the kids of Fry; a lost-but-found crowd that has defined the City of Denton as the Number Two spot for All-American Weirdness in the too-damn-big state of Texas.

Goodbye, Fry Street. I have spent many an hour with you. I'll forever miss The Tomato's pizza, and the haunting sounds of mushroom-trippers serenading passers-by with the crying notes of Jello Biafra's California Uberalis.

I just hope that, when the new businesses move in, the rampant vandalism that they surely face will be tasteful, or at least thought provoking. While I'm not holding my breath for quality defacement, I'm sure Denton's guerrilla art community will lay siege to the new structures for years to come.

Fry Street is dead. Long Live Fry Street.


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The Weird, Turned Pro.

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