Back in it for good but what I miss is the rooftop overlooking Detroit, the luminous clouds, the bridge across the infinite river I can never cross, and the city itself, standing guard over so many deserted factories.
We climb twelve flights of broken stairs to reach the roof of the station. The top floor is a collection of broken floorboards and supports scattered over every available space, a bombed out vision. Graffiti covers everything.
Up top, downtown is less sprawling than I imagined. We walk over to the other side of the building, careful not to step into an open elevator shaft that plunges into the darkness. We can see Canada across the river.
She’s selling the bed we slept in. I couldn’t really understand.