i find it hard to believe that the car’s american birthplace is detroit. it should be l.a., where a pedestrian is an anomaly. people walk only to get to their cars, so they can drive the six-lane-wide, strip-mall-looking streets. i got the sense that everything happened indoors, at individual destinations that the peroxide heads and fake-tanned torsos shuttle to, one by one.
Hi. I’m a freelance creative director, copywriter, and content strategist who lives in Toronto. These are my musings. I usually review books. Sometimes I write about the things that make me go hmmm.