I drove directly from work to Traffic Jam in Midtown, Detroit. My roommates were there, finishing what appeared to be filling meals of burger and barbecue. I ordered a stout and checked some articles about the “new” iPad. They didn’t give it a distinctive name and it seemed to make some analysts uncomfortable.
I didn’t say much at the bar. I stood and looked at the obvious segregation. A room of blacks, a few single white guys, and a couple of couples around the corner of the bar. I couldn’t stop eyeing one beautiful girlfriend, wondering if I’ll ever be willing to blend into someone the way she was.
I found my way into my second glass. Finally decided to sit on the stool I had been eyeing for some time. It had a coat, but no person. I noted the wood grain of the bar and the 11 o’clock news playing silently overhead. Exhausted, we cleared our tabs.
I drove alongside my cousin on his bike and we agreed that we would both go bald because of our genes. Our roommate Alex showed up shortly after speeding to catch up on his mountain bike, and speeding up to meet the pavement. It sounded pretty bad, but a few drinks keeps you loose. He got up and we laughed. I left the two behind and made my way down Woodward.
I had the windows down, and it always makes me feel that I’m driving faster than I am. I sped up to each red light. Sitting. Waiting for the gate to lift. I felt the wind. In some ways, I saw the wind squeezing its way through buildings and narrow alleyways. Pushing its way toward my driver side window.
There’s something to be said of the wind where we live. It carries our dirt and scent. It carries our screams and hollers. As I drove home with the windows down, I was covered in wind. Buried in it. Led by the power of Detroit, directing me home.
_ Kevin Kaminski 2012