Two thousand souls. Originally called “Paris,” but that Francophilia was soon corrected, and it was renamed after “Charles William de la Poer Beresford, 1st Baron Beresford, (10 February 1846 – 6 September 1919), styled Lord Charles Beresford between 1859 and 1916, was a British admiral and Member of Parliament.” He had a wild life that had nothing to do with South Dakota, at all.

I don’t know why I started here, except to say that the building looks smaller than it is.
Look at the door.
This is odd.
Often a big door meant a garage or car dealership, but that doesn’t seem right. The residential upstairs doesn’t fit. But perhaps that’s what it was.
“I took down the wall between the two buildings, but had to put it back up. People kept tripping.”
 
OUMB (Obligatory Ugly Modern Bank, if you’re just joining us) - it looks like it’s from the early years of mass-market beige PCs.
 
The glassy-eyed stare.
Annnnd the “bring back downtown” Buckaroo-revival (not my term, but I can’t remember who coined it; has to do with those damned shingles from the 60s / 70s) awning across several distinct buildings.
 
Ghost-town effect completed.
 
 
KUNDERT
This Flickr page says “Built in 1895 by William and Ida Kundert.” Harness making company, if you believe one trade publication, but other entries in other business magazines mention hardware and automobile supplies, sporting goods, athletic gear.
The town could stand a lick of paint, I think.
All that’s left of the other building is the plaster on the common wall, if that’s what it is.
This has the sober heft of a bank, doesn’t it?
 
Some stories here, I think.

The building that’s gone - can’t say. Fire, or it fell down. The one on the right has a shiny facade at odds with the green painted wood, so it got a refresh at some point by some optimistic merchant.

I can smell what it’s like behind the glass and the dusty shades. The omnipresent smell of old small-town commercial buildings. Dust on the radiators, slowly roasting.
 
 
Nice flowers.
People used to come here once a day; then one person came every day; then that person came by now and then. Now it’s this.
The lummox and his nimble little pal:

The glass block doesn’t quite work.

Originally a bank, of course. Dead sure of it. The pillars look as if they think the other one has cooties and they want to stay away as far as possible.

Next door - an annex for the same bank? Seems too small to be its own bank, and you don’t know why anyone would open up a bank right next to the big one.

 
 
An odd little post office, almost somehow New Englandish in style.
The sign of the faraway power, the liege of these lands.