Essay: East Side Noel Night in Detroit

Driving home last night, my head was full of blue eyes and good conversation. The taco place, the tree-trimming party, the jazz show, the unexpected commonalities.

I turned the radio up and took city streets home, drove the scenic route of East Warren since it was too late to take a good-mood-victory-lap on Belle Isle. I noticed bars I’d never realized were there, pools of light surrounded by clusters of cars in the dark Detroit night. I drummed on canadian pharmacy keeps emailing me the steering wheel and made a mental note to maybe check one or two of them out some time.

I turned onto The Boulevard and went a couple of blocks before I saw the glowing cloud. For a second I fumbled in my head, groped for another explanation, but once I started to see that the cloud was orange, I knew.

I have been reading and writing lately about all these fires, all these burning buildings. Summer of last year there was this two-week period where I saw so many fires that I got depressed for a while. So I check in with myself: Am I just seeing this because I focus on it? Is it really that bad?

Earlier this week there was a fire on the block of the historic Ossian Sweet house, two doors down. The Sweet House was untouched, but the occupied house was destroyed, and both its occupied neighbor and its unoccupied neighbor were damaged. Two days ago there was an arson on the West Side that killed two very young children.

Last night it was so big and so apparently orange, I thought maybe it was that abandoned rec-center-school-thing over there. Nope: Just north of 94, on Field Street, there were at least two houses and a garage, going throughout. Usually you see a little bit of flame and a lot of smoke, but this was all flame. I don’t know if the buildings were occupied.

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When I got back to my neighborhood, several entire neighborhoods away, I could still see the top of the smoke cialis 5 mg once a day cloud. Damn. I hope everyone’s okay. But what can I do? I went in, sprawled out, texted blue eyes, wrote this.

–Claire Nowak-Boyd

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