USA/Canada border, Detroit, Michigan

I get lost in Detroit. The exit ramp that says Canada is closed and there’s no detour sign. I take the next exit, which brings me through a Detroit neighbourhood. I have to navigate the huge potholes that seem to be everywhere. I see large prestigious looking homes with all their windows boarded up, weeds and wild bushes growing up all around and still there are signs of people living in them. After driving around several blocks I spot some detour signs for Canada and I follow them for a while until they eventually disappear. I wonder if someone removed the signs to fool people who usually bypass Detroit on their way to other destinations. My car’s suspension, already overloaded with everything I could cram in it from my studio and apartment including a television in the front seat-belted in like an extra passenger, pots and pans in the back seat, clothes, children’s toys on the roof, books DVDs and any additional odds and ends I could poke in between, makes sickening sounds as I try to navigate the streets. I spot another car with Ontario plates and decide to follow it. After a while I realize they don’t know where they’re going either so we part ways. After a half an hour I stumble on another sign that says: Bridge to Canada. This is it. I approach the border agent with stomach churning. I feel guilty, I feel like they’re going to find something terrible and stop me from crossing. I rehearse what I’m going to say several times before I drive up to the window. We exchange a few words, he glances at my passport and it’s over, I’m in.