Detroit is a bad city. I mean, Michael Jackson bad. Urban Dictionary bad. I love the country feel of the East side because it reminds me of home. I love the stylish realness of the West side because it reminds … Continue reading Why I Loved–and Left–Detroit
Moving. You find yourself stuffing boxes with things like ratty old bedding, a rag rug you never finished (but plan to) or looking at a rusting metal ruler and thinking, Do I really need this? only to decide that the … Continue reading Stuff–What is it all?
Hot Cheetos. Stale Cheetos. Stale, hot Cheetos. I was well known in the city as a food critic, but no one knew the intricacies of my daily routine. They didn’t know, for instance, that every evening I filled my sink … Continue reading Stale, Hot Cheetos
The year, 1996. The time, universal. Somewhere, far back-a-bush, “Mmm Bopp” squeaked out of a short wave radio into the humid night. The radio sat in a corner of a thatch hut, on a knock-an’-stan’-up table, its antenna broken crudely and splinted back … Continue reading Short Wave
A pony-drawn hearse rolled up for my father. He was still alive but very sick and surely would not survive the storm. There were murmurs of a great storm roaring our way over the hills and gaining power. The murmurs grew and spilled out into great worries and the worries turned to terror. We didn’t even board up the windows of our house because it was futile: this was the storm that would end my life and the lives of my parents. At first there was a small rain shower and it blew over. But we could see clouds jelling up, inky … Continue reading The Storm