The first time you visit Detroit, you’ll notice right away that TS Eliot based his poem “The Waste Land” on the Michigan city. Indeed, April is the cruelest month in Detroit, as that’s when your cousin the archduke straps you to a damn sled and down you go. Then he shows you fear in a handful of dust and you’re really screwed.
Residents of Detroit are neither living nor dead, and they know nothing, looking into the heart of light, the silence, which is located in the beautiful Lafayette Park area, under the brown fog of a winter dawn. The chief industry in Detroit is turning the wheel and looking to windward, considering Phlebas, who was once handsome and tall as you, though the auto industry is making a comeback.
A popular tourist destination is this decayed hole among the mountains. Also, over the tumbled graves, there is the empty chapel, only the wind’s home. Families enjoy getting their pictures taken with the wind, and buying T-shirts reading, “My grandparents went over the tumbled graves and all I got was this lousy t-shirt.”