"She wants to be a cheerleader"

Michigan has proved to be pretty strange. It reminds me a lot of Maine. Everyone has a similar accent, dragging their "r's" out in a pirate like way. On an evening walk, the air hung above us in a wet pillow that wrung itself out occasionally. We biked past tiny tribes of trees, through the crisp feeling of all day shade, and crossed three counties invisible backyard lines. We rolled, speeding on chippy hills. We encounter deer constantly, but they do not let us get close. They stare as we approach them, never taking their eyes from us. There are turtles in the bike lanes, their shells collapsed like houses rejected by tornados. Their tails rolled out on hot pavement. M-52.