hings are fucked up in Detroit. And they’re not just hidden-behind-the-scenes fucked up, but in-your-face fucked up. Throughout the city, there are deep pockets of half-collapsed buildings and blocks of burned-out homes. Once elegant places now look so abandoned that if it was not for the graffiti, there would be virtually no evidence of human activity. The decaying ruins and urban sprawl are what make “the D” such an inviting canvas for writers all across the nation; an aerosol mecca that warrants at least one pilgrimage.
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