By crossing into this document, you consent to being told the truth about a city that has spent a hundred and forty years deciding what to keep visible and what to bury.

You accept that "Mall City" is not a metaphor. In 1959 this city closed two blocks of Burdick Street to cars and called the country's first pedestrian mall not a park, not a plaza, but a Mall — because it wanted the shopping to still count.

You acknowledge that a creek runs beneath several of the streets you are about to walk, that it was buried on purpose between 1873 and 1890, and that no one asked the creek.

You agree not to mistake the buildings for finished. Every landmark ahead has been at least one other thing before it was this thing, and will likely be at least one other thing after you close this window.

In the event that you develop feelings for a pharmaceutical company, a defunct movie palace, or a stretch of pavement with a creek trapped beneath it, The Means of Production accepts no liability. This is a known side effect.

You agree to read at least one plaque, someday, in person, on purpose.