Detroit Avenue

Hey, it is a post!

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Untitled Aside

My new apartment overlooks Detroit Avenue, a main drag that runs from Cleveland and into the Western suburbs. I do not see much of the traffic that goes along the road, but instead hear it from the living room recliner. I can not stick my head out the window because the edges are caked with the soot from the tractor trailers forced off the highway, making deliveries to the United Dairy Farmers convenience store and Pet Supplies Plus. The wood frames are bent, maybe from the rumble of the traffic or the lack of building maintenance. Still, I can hear everything and when I must look, I press myself to the dusty screens and leave my imprint on the wire checkerboard.

RTA buses have this low rumble combined with the pop and his of hydraulics. You can hear them from a block away and the noise signals me to pull the bus fare out of my pockets. If the buses have their air conditioners fired up, then I am transported to a small airport, waiting to jump on my puddle jumper across the plains. When I anthropomorphize them, the buses whine out "I'm coming, I'm coming!" as they pull up to the bakery downstairs from the apartment.

Cars all sound the same to my untrained ears. I need a gear head listener, with an ear most often featured on an avid birder. Sometimes the radios share their music and each day will have a surprise soundtrack. In my previous homes, such shared blaring would produce reggeaton or country music. respectively. Here the street is a mix CD. A pavement tuner set to the maximum value and permanently on scan.

"Two minutes to midnight...."

"Sexual eruption..."

"After two days in the desert sun..."

"Reeboks with the straps, with the straps..."

To snap out my noisy reveries, I rely on the slam of the loading dock doors of the pizzeria across the street.

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I tried some onomatopoeia.

Peace!