. . .what did you decide?
You said you needed time,
You had time."
I left Ypsilanti when it smelled like old gym lockers. That happens when it rains.
Trembling in my Ford Escort, I discovered how Noah probably felt during those forty days. (Later, I imagined I could commiserate with Moses in his journey to find the Promised Land. Why one city needs so many overlapping highways is beyond my comprehension.)
There was not nearly enough Mondrian at the Warhol museum, however, an exhibit I nearly overlooked proved to have the highlight of the excursion.
I discovered a cafe - not that it was in any way hidden - where smoking is allowed, regulars are kind, the internet is free, and the coffee doesn't suck completely. On the other hand, there were far too many of young people with silly faces, compensating for their self-perceived lack of social prestige with loud squeals and cigarettes, and a left-wing pretentiousness in the decor.
I acquired new lipstick and a pair of plastic earrings, growing nervousness about the state of my car, perspective on my own town. Perspective especially regarding the quality of coffee, the ease of navigation, and a place to call home, whether in the smiles of my friends, patterns in nightlife, or a small apartment on Hamilton.
I would be lying if I said I didn't think of you all the entire time.
I only do things when I am ready; I will be ready to be home next time you see me, thus, very happy to see you.
