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Detroit

In Like A Lion

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It’s been a long time since I’ve been in a place with four distinct seasons. Albuquerque came closest, I guess, with its five minutes of Spring and Fall separating its bitter, mile-high Winter and its blistering, brain-melting Summer.

Back in Detroit. Think I’ve mentioned that before. Here there are four distinct seasons. Winter, overall, is hard to forget. Cold. That, along with too long, about sums up winter in Detroit. It’s been a mild one, this my first winter back but still, anything less than 60 degrees sucks.
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Fire and Rain

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The moon is nearing full. I can see it outside my bedroom window. Clear sky. Cold. Back in Detroit. Back home. Who would believe that shit?

Look down upon me, Jesus. This city is in the toilet. Is that the way it should be?

Seen fire. Seen rain. Detroit in the toilet? Yeah, kind of saw that coming. Happy about it? Maybe once upon a time ago I might have given it a thirty second laugh. Now? Not so much.

Detroit is a grand old lady brought low by greed and avarice. There are great people here. People who stayed because they had to. People who stayed because they wanted to. And those of us few who returned because we love this dirty old town, this wheel-spoke layout of a city that refuses to die despite those who stab it at every turn.
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A City of Two Tails

I’ve been back in Detroit exactly a month and a day. A few folks I know, mostly my relatives, wonder if I’m crazy. My son even asked me if I’d gone senile. Well, crazy yes, but then I’ve always been a bit crazy. Senile? Who knows. Could be.

Detroit has a bad rap. From Motor City to Murder City, an urban landscape of burned out and abandoned houses, empty, trash strewn lots, crime and crack-heads. But there is another side to her, a side not often acknowledged in the if-it-bleeds-it-leads mentality this country seems so enamored of.
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No More Nothing To Do

Don Watts, a long time friend, once said to me that owning a home means never having nothing to do. That’s especially true if the house you buy has been sitting vacant for a number of years. The one I’m sitting in at the moment, listening to rainwater drip into a bucket near the front door, is just such a house. As of the 21st of this month, it’s mine: lock, stock and leaky roof.

Structurally sound, it sits on a slight rise from the street which has helped to keep the foundation strong and the basement dry. Two bedrooms on the ground floor and a long, low-ceilinged bedroom upstairs, it has a huge living room, a tiny kitchen and an extremely damaged bathroom. Damage-wise, the bathroom is the worst of it. The entire back wall is torn out. I guess, if you’re going to steal a bathtub, it’s easier to tear out the wall then to drag the thing out the smashed-in backdoor.
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