Minneapolis

I loved Minneapolis. On the two and a half hour drive from Minneapolis to Winona, I tried to decide exactly why I liked Minneapolis so much. There was no one thing that really swept me off my feet- no one neighborhood that I fell in love with, no particular perk of the city that won me over. Still, there wasn’t much I didn’t like about it.

The overall vibe of the city was just really good. It was really cool but didn’t feel at all pretentious or overly full of itself. Each little neighborhood has a sort of central gathering place- an ice cream shop, antique store, and a corner store – or some other pairing of a couple interesting little shops grouped together. I loved the community vibe that created- which isn’t always easy to do in a bigger city. I loved that the downtown was a real downtown- big buildings, lots of people bustling around, a little intimidating. All the things a big city downtown should be. I liked that even in the summer, the nights are cool. I liked the lakes. I liked the people, the coffee shops I visited, the selection of independent bookstores- it all just felt very comfortable to me. I’m not sure how long it’ll be before I am there again, but I feel like I’ll definitely be back.

Now that I’m looking at my pictures, I took almost no pictures in Minneapolis for some reason. Oh well, enjoy a couple random pictures anyway.

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I promise there’s coffee beneath all that whipped cream.

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A cute little alleyway.

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Feelin traveler-y

 

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Johnson at State

escaping the office at
2 am my
hands bloodied with lipstick
i am relieved to
hit the sidewalks: kept free
of trash but cluttered with trashed
bodies

a two story urban utopia
cracks

a strawberry blonde with
little curls around her ears
throws her legs in front of her as
though hoping they’ll hit the ground,
her shirt cut nearly in half,
like the warmth of sugary Svedka suddenly made
her sexy in her skin,
her stomach stiff against the claws of october in the
midwest.

a shoe-less Latino man with
bags on his arms and
the rest of his belongings beneath his
eyes
shrieks in the street and
waves a hand that
seems to have forgotten some of its fingers.

the hunch backed man
inhabits his usual spot,
(one of the last remaining after the
city tried to bury the homeless still
mummified in their sleeping bags)
and reminds me
“the first joke is free,”

I wonder what he has
to
laugh about