Milwaukee may be the most interesting city I’ve ever flown into. I can’t say I’ve ever seen a city and its outskirts laid out so perfectly. Its blocks were actual blocks. Laid out like the perfect nine patch quilt. Each block is met by a road which ties it to the next perfect block. Each block is made up of houses. Each perfectly spaced, with a snip of a back yard and shed that is an exact interpretation of the square house in front of it. Each block has the same number of street lights. The same number of telephone poles. The same number of trees. The tin roofs of Milwaukee must make the most glorious symphony in the rain…red & green & blue & gray. They all look the same. Faded and loved by harsh summers and brutal winters. The quilted plane is broken up with Rivers and lakes that are covered in sheets of ice that look like rice paper, floating in a bowl of wate. The don’t move, but rather the current of the water moves beneath the sheets. Gently lapping the frozen shores. The wind blows as though an industrial fan has been cut on. Harsh, cold, it smells fresh, but it bites so hard you have to pause to catch your breath. The air is so clear you feel certain that you must be dreaming. And just like that.…it’s gone. Up above the clouds I go. And yet. I have in fact been there…


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