Whiplash

Talk about yer time whiplash. Over the weekend, I realized that almost-mayor Dayne Walling was seven years old when I arrived in Flint. And now, I'll be in my sixties when The Don's new term is up. Man, that's a frigging lifetime -- between Walling's childhood and my looming senescence. And I will have spent it all in Flint.

I think it's time for a reststop in San Pedro. I feel timeless there, when I can sit on the hillside and watch the harbor. There, it seems like nothing's moving -- not even the clock -- except for the container ships, plowing like giant rhinos through the water.