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May 5, 2005

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I rode the newly installed rail for the remainder of that Sunday and toured the city I call home with an observant eye and open mind.

My friends and I (relatives actually) had just finished viewing an art exhibit downtown at the Museum of Fine Arts, and we were not ready to go home – it was hard enough getting away. My sister-in-law had yet to experience the metro rail train, so we bought some tickets like good, upstanding citizens, and rode the rail as far as it would take us, which was all the way to the UH Main Campus. The place was desolate, and when we stepped off the train, it felt like we had just been dropped off on the edge of town in some old western movie, set in Texas of course. We must have angered the locals, and instead of shooting us, the sheriff and his deputy gave us a break and escorted us here to fend for ourselves against vultures and tumble weeds. Only, instead of vultures, they’re pigeons, and instead of tumble weeds, they’re bums. Lots of them. The sun was beginning to set and had already become hidden behind the near distant skyline – the all too familiar Houston skyline that always looks different, and I discover a new design element every time I see it, depending on my angle.

Earlier that day while we were strolling around the skyline district, the triangular building I’m used to seeing from a distance looked flat and one dimensional up close.

Author: Lindsay Niemann

Writer | Graphic Artist