Winter and it's after the car show. There's snow falling in all three quadrants of depth - right in front of your face, off in the distance, and from directly above when you look past the illuminated streetlights.

People are filing out of Cobo Hall and traffic is going absolutely nuts of course - one because it is Detroit and two because a major event has just ended and it is time for everyone to go home.

Blacks and whites, rich and poor but it doesn't matter because everyone's in coats because it's so cold. It's windy and the filthy frozen river does little to warm us.

Looking around is imperative because this is one of those moments you're always going to remember and you'd like the memory to be complete as possible thank you. Thus you search for bookmarks - little visual things that will stand out like beacons in the folds of your brain. These bookmarks will help you find your place later on when you're old and struggling to remember what this day felt like.

The river is eerily stagnant and frozen. Past the river is Canada and the entirely barren, sterile park. While ahead there is nothing but life, looking back appears entirely uninviting and lonely.

The Rennaisance Center rises ahead of us like a supervillian's headquarters. Gray clouds conceal the top of the central cylinder.

Cars are honking everywhere and men clutch the mittens of their sons. Noise is overpowering but ambient.

"What are the tracks for?" asks the friend I travelled here with. He's regarding the steel rails that are embedded into the sidewalk. We're walking right over them and my red boots are slipping and sliding slightly on the cold brushed metal as I realize that I'm pretty far from home.

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