Waking Up in Detroit

Waking up in Detroit to the grey marble sky, impenetrable yet somehow benign, I feel empty, not in a bad way but neutral.
I don’t feel like anyone in particular today except that this no one in particular is about 13 years old.I am going home today as in home to NY , home to my own bed, home to my stuff , home to what gets put on hold when i travel. It is an empty nest. I created it to hold all my dreams and it is full of those but I don’t dream there anymore. When i checked into the hipster enabled Trumbull and Porter Hotel on Trumbell St, Detroit the first thing I asked the sweet, kindly beard manning the desk was “Did this used to be an SRO?” “No” he said “I think it was a Holiday Inn” A Holiday Inn???
“I don’t think so” I say. Jeez ! You can smell the metal sting of crack as you walk in the door! There’s a cold sweat of desperation about the place. The concrete walls ring with sorrow, that echo never goes away. The beardling offered me a room with a patio.
“We happen to have some patio rooms” he said eagerly. “Nah” i replied ,”Nah, I don’t go in for patio rooms, you know those sliding doors give me the heebeejeebies, I already have night terror…PTSD from being attacked, a patio room is torture for me. I just stay up all night watching the door.”
“Yeah” he said, “I know what you mean. I don’t like it myself’. The hallways are so long at this spruced up , hipsterized, yuppified, concrete bunker that was the old Corktown Inn. My intuition was backed up listening to John Sinclair and Jason Yates talk about this place in the 80’s & 90’s. The fear that built up in this long hallway is going nowhere, anytime soon, the leap of people jumping you in the dark is still there, palpable , a scream from 1988 is still bouncing off those walls but it has receeded into decibles too high for the human ear but not for me cuz i hear with my heart and this place is chock a block with heart break and dreams that died borning. There’s a metaphysical stank here, not just the crack stank, piss, shit , vomit, blood, sperm, rat juice and unwashed pussy but tearing loss,and physical pain, unimaginable desolation and resignation so deep you sink in it like emotional quicksand walking to your room. I am going home today. Back to NY, Detroit. Leaving you to yer fate like I did before when I was here in 2001.Only difference is back then I thought I was getting away with it.