“My Mum’s American, she’s from Detroit”

with thirtie minutes remaining of work i walk the green carpeted stairs toward the library and sit on one of the forty eight brown leather chairs opposite the five windows facing onto Kildare Street.  Wasting the remainder of our time together by reading news sites, i come across tube footage found on the telegraph, of extreme skiers skiing in old Detroit, a strange city that lives in my heart because offa movie i saw when i was eleven and of three bands i heard in my twenties.   To hear of its bankruptcy midway through last year saddened me although the photographs taken by Yves Marchand & Romin Meffre brightened me and a hope inside grew with the possibility that the motor city can flourish once again sometime in the near future of the 21st century.

. . . and disillusion plays on the old music maker while i think of tracing skylines . . .

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