This is where the dream of suburbia has gone to
die. Once a mighty symbol of postwar economic strength, the promise of a slightly larger than inner-city yard. a house that has the exact same floor plan as your next
door neighbor but in a different
shade of factory polluted pastel with a matching detached garage.
The pride of the city: a shopping center built in 1957 an early example of a strip mall, torn down.
It's A place where the parks are filled with alcoholics sheltering in the dugouts of neglected
baseball fields while surrounding themselves with the classiest of beverages: 40 ounce bottles of Old
English 800, during school hours.
Where you can sleep soundly listening to the
gun shots of meth-head neighbors whom have let their longstanding feud boil over.
Where police are too busy playing music over their car loudspeakers when watching street races vie for glory across the street in
Detroit It's where at the local diner, a guy goes crazy after he finds out his girlfriend whom waitresses there has cheated on him with a cook, shoots the diner up only to
die by rear ending a farm combine forty miles away in Monroe. Where growing up, you learn to tell the difference between different types of junkies before the age of eleven. It's a place where an ex-bouncer at the local dance club escaped from the basement with holes drilled through his hands. Where just breathing , quadruples your
cancer risk.
Lincoln Park may be the reason white people are moving back to
Detroit.
