Motoring up to Motown

[no_leaf]

        "My daddy left home when I was three,
        And he didn't leave much to ma and me,
        Just this old guitar and an empty bottle of booze."

        "Well, I grew up quick and I grew up mean.
        My fist got hard and my wits got keen.
        I'd roam from town to town to hide my shame."

                -Johnny Cash, "A Boy Named 'Sue'"


Detroit, coming up the I-75, begins when one crosses the Rouge River, which flows into the Detroit around an old steel mill on an island (the signs say Zug Island). The exits for Melvindale and Lincoln Park are one's last chance to change one's mind about going into The D.

    Almost immediately, the property values drop like a stone, and the decaying corpses of industrial buildings shamble by on the right side of the interstate, briefly punctuated by the last, comparatively healthy enclaves of residences that make up the habitable part of Delray. On the left, Woodmere and Springwells are doing better, with suburban-style tract housing and green spaces - but it's all entirely surrounded by what is known as 'Measure 2' areas, where the City has capitulated to the advance of entropy and huge swaths of buildings lay barren, blanketed with Grafitti - most of which seems to be territory markers for several gangs. The major players in town, at least in the Southwest (Mexicantown, Delray, and their surroundings) include MS-13 - bad news anywhere, and the Outlaws - the famous rivals to the Hell's Angels. One doesn't have to have the spiritual instincts of the Garou to know that between the rampant crime, and decaying architecture, the Wyrm's hold here is a powerful one.

Needles in haystacks. That's the way it usually goes, but rarely is the haystack so noticeably filthy and despondent. As Mack drives her way further into the area, she casts a quick glance down to the firearm tucked into hidding between the seat and center console. She lowers the radio down to almost inaudible, wanting to clear her mind of any distractions as she delves deeper into a potentially hornet filled nest. For now, she's sticking to as much of the main roads as possible; this first run into town intended to be a vague mapping attempt.

Current maps of the City are largely useless. Measure 2 is still ongoing, and many neighborhoods haven't yet had the Emminent Domain coup de grace yet. But it's patently obvious where the City's priorities are. As Mack rolls into town on I-75 the glittering, pristine Financial District dominates the waterfront where the I-75 and I-375 diverge and Mack is forced to leave the interstate, or begin tracking. Plazas and parks are the norm, particularly along the I-375/Jefferson Avenue conversion, which - as the signs inform Mack - leads further on towards Grosse Pointe.

Mack wrinkles her nose as she compares reality to the maps she has on hand. "Freaking useless." A frustrated sigh finds itself exhaled in a quick huff as she picks a direction and settles on simply going 'that way'. The direction she chooses is into the heart of downtown so she can get a feel for the atmosphere there as well as start looking for potential income opportunities.

The main drag, at least the one that the City seems inclined to hold onto, despite the pressures towards ruination that are in play all around, is Woodward Avenue, Michigan Route 1. It's almost like the City's spinal column, running mostly North through the middle of all the best places. Casinos, banks, shopping centers, the hustle and bustle of city life are all huddled in around this life-giving artery. Up at the northernmost end of this the drive terminates in parks and country clubs as well as the University District and dense residential zoning.

After just a few blocks of driving the city's artery, Mack finds a place to park the SUV so she can start hoofing it. A quick peek into the mirror gives her a chance to throw on a bit of conservatively colored lip gloss and a few strokes of eyeliner; if she's out to play nice with humanity she ought to look the part. A satchel-style purse is grabbed, but the firearm is left well stowed out of sight in the truck, and with one final bit of straightening her hair she steps out and starts toward the sidewalk.

Close to Woodward, people walk on the sidewalks in relative comfort (though Mack eats into that comfort zone a little bit, her performance of 'feminine' notwithstanding). There is a visible police presence, which helps with all of this a great deal - and there's obvious signs that the appearances here are cultivated, aggressively. It's probably no accident that everything that faces Woodward avenue, that Mack encounters on her stroll, is aimed at visitors and tourists, all the way down to the three major casinos that have become the main draw, to Detroit. South of that, things begin to look rougher.

She keeps a pretty good look around her as she moves, though she does what she can to keep it subtle and look more tourist than hitman. The casinos draw her attention as a possible busking location, so she heads toward the nearest one.

It's not Vegas, but the MGM Grand and Greektown casino hotels are the two giants, and for off-strip affairs they're new and shiny. The smaller, Motor City Casino, is the closest to the implied boundary, where there aren't so many people loitering on the street, where the glass looks a little thicker, and where the police are just a touch more on edge. Restaurants and shops all huddle around the casinos themselves, looking to find revenue from the tourists that stay and patronize the casinos. People Mover buses and a gaggle of taxis are doing brisk business near the entrances. All of the casinos have 'No Soliciting' signs plastered everywhere, but there are a couple of small parks very nearby which won't have the image-paranoid management that hotels often do.

Mack takes note of which casinos attract what kind of patrons, and spotting those solicitation signs she tosses an eyeroll at no one in particular. The parks draw her attention next and she makes her way toward them, still very much trying to fit that 'young tourist' look.

A neglected green space by any other name: at least the grass (which is patchy in places and a touch bare in others) is groomed. The cold weather of the season means that there isn't a lot of foot traffic, but the surroundings aren't so rough that they'd be absolute no-nos. A couple of people are even walking in these spaces, even at this time of year. If it weren't for the uneasy prickle at the back of her hackles, it might even be easy to look at this space like any other - but everything that's wrong in the rest of the world is just that little bit moreso, here.

A mental note is made about this park, and Mack turns to head back to the sidewalk opposite the one she traveled here on. The park-goers get a quick once over but she doesn't linger long on them. Her pace picks up a little as chill hits her, and she aims for her next destination; trying to find where the artsy side of town is.

This proves to be a much longer bit. While the center of town is clearly aimed at tourists, the usual cultrual appeal has been forgone in favor of ways to obtain money from people who visit the city. There are artier places, however, and after a fairly lengthy search, Mack is clued in to move her search north, towards the universities, and to Hamtramack, an independent town that was, until Measure 2 passed, entirely surrounded by Detroit. Now it's got Detroit to the west and south, and Measure 2 lands east and north. Hamtramck, however, has a very different feel to it - though the ominous shadow of Detroit is cast over it - being something of a more laid back, almost enclave. That town's answer to the blight hasn't been to bet on casinos and stadiums, but rather to bet on coffee shops and hippies.

"Huh. This has potential," she offers quietly to herself before continued browsing. She pauses long enough to reach into her purse and shuffle around the bottom for loose change and crumpled bills, and upon finding what she was after, aims toward one of the coffee shops and steps inside.

Nobody's doing well, as the cracked walls attest, but the coffee shop she strolled into is doing it's best and eking out an existence despite the fact that the whole community is struggling. The walls show the signs of employees doubling as the contractors that do any repairs. The decor is hyper-ecclectic, and the patrons are a tight-knit bunch. Mack gets a smiling greeting as she enters.

"Hi," Mack offers with a smile. "Can I get a small latte please? Double shot?" She shifts her bag on her right shoulder and steps forward with the cash in her opposite hand. "Just got into town. Long drives make you so sleepy, don't they?"

"Ohmygod doesn't it?" The fellow on the other side agrees with a nod. He starts tapping away at an ipod that's serving as a register and calls over his shoulder, "Two shot small latte," which is read back by the barista on reflex. "Where ya headed," he asks, the implied understanding being that one does not come to Detroit unless one is simply passing through.

"Here, for now. It's... sort of a bucket list thing." The Fianna does her best to play out her role; that of being a young, dream-big artist type. "I want to hit all the big name blues cities, and play a couple gigs in each one. So. Here I am. Motown!"

"No way," the guy behind the counter says. It's conversational, not actual disbelief. "Well, welcome then. I hope you enjoy everything there is in the 313. Latte's three twenty six." He doesn't miss a beat, after quoting her tab, before he's back into it. "Sooo... what do you play, that you're looking to find gigs for?"

"Thanks," she offers with another fun smile. The cash is handed over, two singles, five quarters and a penny exact. "Guitar. And vocals, a bit. More the guitar. Do you happen to know of any cafes that let performers crash their corner space? Or of some decent blues clubs?"

"Plenty of shops like us in Hamtramck," he says as he sorts the tender into a till built into the countertop that the ipad rests atop. He pulls a business card from a holder nearby, amidts a buffet of coupons and small-format adverts, offering it to her, it bears the name of the shop. "Our founder's name is Julie, she handles all of our space scheduling so you could work something out with her. I don't know what there is in the city, I pretty much don't leave here except to go to classes anymore. But Julie'd probably know more. She's been here forever."

Mack takes the business card and the latte, "Oh that awesome, thanks. I'll definitely look into it." The card is given another look and then tucked into her back pocket rather than the bag. "Ugh, classes. Don't envy you that." A napkin is gathered now with her free hand and she offers one more smile. "But, if you're here that often, I might run into you again. Especially if this tastes as good as it smells. But, thanks! Oh-" she amends quickly, "Any advice for a tourist?"

He's hesitant to say anything, but he does come out with it: "Yeah... don't be out too late, and especially not near the river. The news makes it sound worse than it is, but this is - for real - a tough town, especially after dark."

Mack tips her head to the side and gives a single nod, "Ok. I'll be mindful of that. Thanks again!" she offers brightly and turns toward the door.