The unseen depression.

One morning earlier this week I went back to my office in Motown this week to grab a few things. 

I discovered I had a nearly-full container of cleaning wipes that I had forgotten all about--snagged that little cylinder of figurative gold.

What was worrying was the lack of parking. But not in the sense I normally use.

In this case, parking lots were almost empty. 

One of the ones I used is up for sale, and I hope and pray the attendant, who has a wife and five children, has some kind of work right now.

The other one has a kiosk that is manned by an attendant.

Not this time. There were maybe fifteen cars in a lot that usually has 200 by mid-morning. No attendant.

And mass transit has become so bad that the Detroit drivers walked off the job today, protesting the conditions under which they have to work. Which include violence, threats, abuse and, yes, coronavirus. DDOT usually runs a decent-enough ship, but I have watched a driver being verbally-berated by a bus full of passengers before. And that was before the world went mad.

Long story short: I worry about Detroit's revival prospects, even if we get a good-enough vaccine.