I wonder if I’m the only person in Detroit who still looks when something drives by with a siren on. I’m not sure if that part of growing up in Rural Countryville will ever be adapted out of me. It’s tied in, though, with some inane fear that they’re coming for me and I don’t know it. Not like men-in-white-coats-I’m-nuts kind of coming for me… Like my-house-is-on-fire-and-I’m-not-aware or I’m-seriously-injured-and-having-an-out-of-body-experience kind of coming for me. Strange I guess. Not sure where it came from.