Look at this city.
There is something about Detroit that intrigues me to no end. It’s a wild card.
It’s a
Grey Gardens,
I’m Ready for My Close Up Mr Demille,
Chanel-make-up-caked-in-the-landslide-face-of-an-aged-beauty-queen
kinda town.
I feel as though there would be a forlorn soundtrack of a wobbling old 78 haunting the wind down each street. Something sweet and haunting, written for lovers. Just audible enough to make you hush.
There is magic here.
They used to make things here, I mean really make things, like come-home-and-wash-the-dirt-from-your-nails kinda make things.
There were big dreams; big wet dreams and picket fences and shiny whips.
And now there is something new. A blade of grass between the crumbling cement and twisted iron.
Motor on.
Still plenty to do and see in Detroit.
