Things fall: a man, dusk, a world record, & a baby.
From March 21
Sometimes, you’re walking around Motor City, looking at apartments, because someone mentioned Motor City is a great place to live—you can shop at the Spinney’s and push your shopping cart out of the store, down the sidewalk, into your apartment, and unload your groceries directly from the cart to your refrigerator; you feel a bit white trash doing it, but it’s awesome—and you notice a crane, across from the shops, with a basket rising to the top. A man bungee jumps out and bounces up. The basket is lowered and at first you think it’s another man climbing in, but it’s the same man who rises, falls, rises, falls, rises, repeat and repeat and repeat. The sun sets. You move on.
You walk around the area a bit more. It reminds you of Valencia, the suburbs of the suburbs, and why would you move half way to the other side of the planet to live in the remote suburbs, even if there is a running track, but who runs in this heat? You walk some more. There are no sidewalks. Or, not what you know, yet, as sidewalks. You walk through sand, through the transition area from Motor City to Sports City. Everything in this city is themed, and organized by OCD city planners who tended not to talk to each other. There’s a soccer/football game happening in the now dark. You catch a cab and go back to the hotel.
The next morning, you’re having coffee at Caribou before you continue your apartment search and you pick up the local newspaper, The National, (but not The National: you hate The National) only to find you watched a World Record fall.
You scan the newspaper, surprised to find news from the Los Angeles suburb of Burbank, Suburbank—from home: “Bed move saves US toddler’s fall”—this is the news that travels 8,317 miles/13,385km.
You laugh, finish your coffee and leave for another day of apartment hunting.
Falling Through Your Clothes