Contrasts.

August 9, Plymouth.

Nice feel to the lot where we are parked, always it hinges on nothing, just a feeling, the horses are grazing outside our door, an open front yard in front of us, I push the double stroller downtown, a couple of blocks, and it reminds me of Petaluma, California, very gentrified not-at-all-shabby chic downtown lined with boutiques and cafés, a farmers' market, miles from the pot-holed, rundown neighborhood of Detroit where we went to do laundry yesterday.