In Warren, a moment or two from 8 Mile and Van Dyke, there's a side street that goes back to my childhood. Twenty years pass and I drive there to see firsthand what I missed. The yard out in front of our apartment is exactly what I imagined, but homes beyond it never stuck with me. Maybe I was never tall enough to see over the that treeless hill or the windows in our place. Behind that shielding front passenger seat of our beat up car, I imagined a butterfly of highways, looping over and over, somehow branching out to our parking lot. Each time we'd head home, I'd ask my mother, with what must have been genuine naivete, "Are we going back to America?" That's what I knew that place as. Some things seem so crystal clear when you're a kid.
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