Ahhhh… breathe in that silty Michigan air wafting from slush-covered cement, finely dusted by salt, with a lilt tough enough to peel auto paint to the primer. Hello, Mittenssippi.

Now that I’m settling back into my stomping grounds, the primary concern is to get out of my parent’s Sophomore-year instated curfew of midnight and find my own place. As Pop and I begin the house hunt for a 1930s Craftsman-style bungalow fixer-upper in my price range, my thoughts gravitate back to the one piece of Southeast Michigan property I’d really like to buy and restore.

The Michigan Central Station train depot. A monolith of forgotten beauty, rotted out from within and near-offensively lined with a manicured lawn, like an ornate chamber pot set on a doily. Read the rest of this entry »