I’m in the ancestral house in Detroit. All is well. No ghosts or bodies in the basement, although the garage door appears to be well and truly jammed. I’m meeting the tenant for lunch this afternoon, and an attorney-friend for dinner … hopefully to dispense with paperwork and make a plan for the next year or so.
The trip was a long haul, but uneventful. It’s about a 12 hour drive, including 4 hours across Canada. I stopped off at Niagara Falls, which was well worth it. That detour put me into Windsor around 9pm. I decided that I wasn’t in the mood for “Urban Exploration and Adventure” (as my mom’s t-shirt puts it) on a Saturday night, so I called up redmed and asked her to hotwire me a hotel in Windsor. God Bless the Internet.
I had forgotten that Windsor is basically Las Vegas Midwest … with all sorts of stuff legal that the US frowns upon (Cuban Cigars, Absinthe, Prostitution, Gambling) … and so the town was packed to the gills with drunken, clueless college kids. As I checked in, a group of girls was desperately trying to explain to the desk staff how it wasn’t their fault that they had broken the mini-bar. Good times. I was tired, and retired early.
This morning, I was subject to a random screening for customs. They poked around the car and asked where I was from (“long drive”), and where I was going (“nice neighborhood…”). Then they let me go. Looking at what they have to deal with … I need to revisit my thoughts on border security. These guys have about 30 seconds to make a pass / no-pass decision on each vehicle. What the hell are they supposed to do?
The plan for the afternoon: Go to the grocery store and get snacks and cleaning supplies. Yay!
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