Modesty and humility rule here. The grass is a nearly green and the trees are nearly tall, they aren’t trying garner praise or win awards, everyone and everything will be paid off in heaven. The cars are spotted with rain marks on gray and burgundy paint jobs. The trucks are brown and forest green – all the colors in the lifespan of a blade of grass. It all rolls out on bumpy two lane highways made of crumbly blacktop and faded paint. Every so often a pothole throws you up in your car seat and you wake up and fear for your tires, and your transmission, and your windshield, but not your future, you rest in the comfort of knowing that you are doing the right thing. You are in the motor city and there’s more where that came from.