december 18 2023

It’s raining again. And we’re in Detroit, driving down wide open highway lanes. This is a city of concrete and ghosts and our driver is telling us a story about his life. His name is Michael and he hasn’t been across the border to Canada in 20 years because when he was a teenager he was arrested for destruction of property. We ask him what, exactly, did he do and he tells us he threw a bucket of concrete through somebody’s window. Pause.

I give a sideways look to Ben and we burst into laughter. Michael laughs with us. I want to ask him if he’s an Aries.

Detroit is tinged in yellow and grey this time of year, all the greenery is dead and dying. I don’t feel at peace here but I don’t feel like I’m in danger, the way I do in New York often. For some reason, I feel safer. Calmer. It’s haunted and familiar. Detroit is a wasteland - the emptiness is palpable. New York is a sardine can - bursting at the seams and ready to spill and ooze and catch on fire any second. There, I feel dizzy and paranoid. Here, I feel fine.