The grass in the abandoned lots is knee high now. When the wind blows, it reminds me of "Christina's World" by Wyeth.

The ice cream trucks are out. These are not suburban ice cream trucks, the ones that were manufactured for the purpose of being ice cream trucks. True Detroit ice cream trucks are conversion vans from the 70's. On the side, someone's neighbor/cousin/father blowtorched a hole to sell the ice cream through. Most have stickers haphazardly placed on the side to show the selection, or at the very least show that it sells ice cream. All of these play the same music, an electronic medley of Turkey in the Straw and Pop Goes the Weasel. I can hear these songs at all times during daylight in my house.

Summer in Detroit is fireworks season. Detroiters completely disregard the normal explosives days of only Memorial Day and 4th of July. Instead, they prefer to set them off every single night from May until September. Detroit has no noise ordinance, and apparently every resident takes part, so it only bothers those of us imported from the burbs. It doesn't get sufficiently dark until around 10 now, so the pyro-mahem can last as late as midnight or one.

The packs of feral dogs that prowl my neighborhood are securely gripped by spring fever. They took advantage of the three foot tall grass in the park to create a love nest of their own. As I drove to work the other day, I saw two of them going at it like, um, rabbits. I wondered if shamanistic traditions think this is a sign of luck. All I know is that it is a sure sign of an increasing feral dog population.

All of the kids are out of school now. The concrete leading up to my steps is constantly tattooed with drawings and writing, some in Arabic. I don't know how ideal the hood is for an adult, but it must be awfully nice to live there as a kid. Every house on my block has at least three kids, across the street they have close to ten. There is always someone outside to play with, and most kids don't care that they don't all speak the same language. People sit on their porches to watch the kids. My neighborhood reminds me of the one I grew up in, in that respect. Most middle class neighborhoods today always look like they are perfectly manicured but completely devoid of human life. They're kind of eerie.

The Syrian family downstairs had enough foresight to make sure that all six children were born during warm weather. From now until fall, I expect to come home to find 50 of they're closest family members sitting in the backyard eating kabobs. I've been invited before, but I've never accepted. I am kind of jealous of their family, mine is lucky to have a table for four (usually it's only two).