Dear Detroit,

I must first apologize for having thought your city would smell of fart this morning as I landed. The guy that sat behind me in 12A slowly poisoned me with his silent, but deadly flatulent, and I so wrongly assumed that it was your city. I confirmed that your city did not smell of fart once my taxi broke down for a brief moment on the Southfield highway. It probably is because he chose to drive a car that isn’t “built tough” enough.

Thankfully, I still made it to my hotel in a flash. Otherwise, I would not have been able to make it to my bus in time to witness a crime, be offered warm clothing, and forge new friendships all in the time’s length of a half hour. 

Yes, that’s right Detroit, your people have been quite a delight so far. Not so much the man who stole the pink paisley umbrella. He should be ashamed of himself. I know they say, “real men wear pink,” but let’s not kid ourselves. After all, the umbrella was paisley and as far as I’m concerned a little to Vera Bradley-esque for any man to use to shield himself from the rain. 

I’d like to make a special thanks out to the guy who offered me his baby blue hoodie so that I could warm up on the bus, despite the fact that I was folding my arms because I was uncomfortable. And even special-er thanks for making it possible for the same guy to subsequently tell me I was fine and ask me for my number. Luckily, I was far too awkward to properly respond to any sort of his forward demands. Ultimately, this squished any hopes he may have had of finding his one true love on an overcrowded bus.   

My time spent on the 37 bus was cut short by my much needed but dreaded trip to the grocery store, where I spent halves of hundred(s) of dollars on PBJ, apple sauce, and orange juice of course. 

And now I’m here in my hotel room…yep, that’s about it. 

Until next time, stay classy motor city.

Making a B-line for the window seat near the wing on the left-hand side and staring down at the ground from over 32,000 feet in the sky is one of my favorite, routine things to do on an airplane. However, the feeling of stepping off an airplane at any given destination is something even better. 

I’ve been blessed with many experiences that have taken me to new heights and far off places like Brazil, West Coast, Argentina, Hawaii, and New York (my favorite). I’ve also been fortunate enough to have made friends along the way that have all help shape me into the kind of person I am today, and hope to become in the future. 

If there’s a chance that you’re reading this there’s a slight chance that English isn’t your native language, and we’re pretty good friends, mostly best friends. The kind of friend that knows where I’m at, where I’ve been and where I’m going, yet wants to stay in the loop of all the idiosyncrasies that make me, well me. And you know that when we chat it up on the MSN, Skype, Facebook, Orkut, etc., I never, ever talk this way. 

This is why I’ve dedicated the next two months or so of my Tumblr to posting all sorts of oddities regarding my greatest adventure yet, in the comforts of Motown, and all in real talk. So I’m here amigos, with an eagerness to explore all that I can using semi-sketch forms of public transportation, during the daylight of course.