flint’s winter isn’t a blur, it’s a smudge on the map. or is that just my hoodie?

i woke up to the blizzard outside my window, which is like saying i woke up to a blank page. but instead of writing, i decided to paint. yeah, paint. not with acrylics. with the ice forming on my windshield. it was bad enough to make a snow angel with the side of my tire. i didn’t. i just stared at it like it owed me money.

so, what’s the deal with flint in january? it’s not just cold. it’s like a character in a bad movie. the temperature’s -1.75°c, which is technically fine? but then you feel like you’re sipping soup through a straw. feels like -4.8°c. i’m not sure who’s lying here. the weather app, my drip coffee, or the fact that my breath freezes into a beard every time i walk out. either way, i checked and it’s still there. hope you like that kind of thing.

i stayed in this place called the flint inn. it’s not fancy. but the landlord tried to make it feel like a haunted bookstore. which is good! i mean, unless you’re looking for a place to hide from the cold. or a ghost. or both. i heard whispers in the hallway. probably just the wind. or maybe not.

the streets are a mess. not just from the snow. from people trying to ‘street art’ the stuff. i saw a guy spray-painting a flamingo on a dumpster. not creative. not enough. but hey, at least the dumpster was clean after that. i guess?

‘don’t let the snow fool you,’ someone yell at me in a dive bar. ‘this city’s heartbeat is underground.’

? who knows? it could’ve been a bar patron, a drunk historian, or my own dumb brain trying to sound clever. i believed it. so i started digging. literally. in a park. i found a rusted bike frame. now it’s my future art installation. or it’s just trash. we’ll see.

the neighbors? they’re either outside shoveling or inside trying not to freeze. i asked one guy if he knew anything about hidden bars. he said, ‘if you get bored, the river is just a short drive away.’ that’s not helpful! maybe i’ll ask him again. or just stick to the tavern down the street.

‘don’t trust reviews on yelp,’ i overheard a woman mutter. ‘they’re all paid to say good things about the hot sauce there.’

? maybe. or maybe they’re just mad the restaurant burns everything. either way, i’m taking that with a grain of salt. or a shot of something warm.

Artisan ice cream is a must. not the chain stuff. go to the place on 5th street. i heard it from a kid selling hot cocoa. she might’ve been lying. or she might’ve known. either way, the ice cream is good. and it’s in a paper cone. which is a small win.

Alley 3 is where the magic happens. not literally. but if you look close, you’ll find someone’s started a little mural. it’s of a dragon eating a snowman. it’s ugly. it’s brilliant. and it’s probably illegal. i don’t care.

i tried the chili at Joe’s Diner. some people said it’s the best. others said it’s poison. i ate it because i was cold and hungry. it was okay. maybe a little too spicy. but then i saw a kid eating ketchup packets for fun. that’s not a review. that’s a warning.

Flint is these weird, broken thing. it’s not a city you expect. it’s not a city you forget. it’s like if someone painted a map with crayons and then left it in the rain. and then you live there.

Brooklynflint.tumblr.com has all the answers. or lies. or deep cuts. i don’t know. i scrolled for 10 minutes and found a photo of a cat in a top hat. that’s valuable life advice, right?

the weather is still there. it’s -3.2°c now. which is… cold? i don’t know. i just checked and it’s still there. hope you like that kind of thing. if not, maybe consider moving. to a palm tree. or a beach. or a place where the temperature is a suggestion.

if you get bored, the river is just a short drive away. or i could just make that up. probably made it up. either way, the river is here. and it’s probably frozen. unless it’s not. who counts?

p.s. if you see a street artist drawing a snowman on a highway overpass, follow them. they’re probably not serious. probably just bored. or maybe they’re serious. who knows?

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