Description of Walking Blog

I take walks.

I go up, down, over main roads near my house in Redford, Michigan, mostly.

The buildings are not particularly notable. 7-11; CVS; Hungry Howie's Pizza; Party Store; Barber Shop; Burger King; Value Center Market; gas stations; Liquor Vault; among others. I aim to note them.

The cars roar and the people in them stare out at me. I am sometimes honked at by men. I am sometimes honked at by turning cars at intersections. The cars wait for me to turn when they could have easily made it before I crossed their paths. I often feel angry about this. Don't look at me. You people keep your eyes to yourself. I am not here for your viewing pleasure. I am not your toy, picture, robot. I am walking. Leave me alone.  Learn how to time movements. Assholes.
Why am I like that? I'm investigating my reactions. I don't want attention on me, but I want to look out at them all, the people in their cars, the cans and debris they've littered out their windows, or that they've dropped while walking down these same sidewalks. Why don't I want attention on me? Am I doing something wrong? Am I invading these people's privacy? Am I self-conscious for untold reasons? Does anyone in this roadside environment even notice this but myself? Is it arrogant or egotistical to even ask that question?
 ...
I see remains of human life, weird remains. Armour hot dog sticks in small cans discarded in the grass, empty, eaten. Who eats that while walking down the road? Who eats those at any time? Well, I might. I have done worse. But that is a secret life of mine. What was this person doing? I think of him (undoubtedly a man) using his fingers in the broad daylight to pluck out the little hot-dog links and wrap his wet tongue around them, saliva and teeth mixing it all, the half-meat animal-waste medley ground and mashed in the mouth, and down the esophagus, and the can emptied and thrown on the ground outside of Hungry Howie's, tilted away from  my walking approach--I noted it, turned for a second look and perspective, and saw it was empty.
This is not about being too good to eat Armour hot dog links from a can.
But do you know what those are like? What is that food he put into himself? While he was walking? While he was visible? What am I implying, hmm?

I suppose the above is like an example (or a half-example, because I do admit that I didn't really draw any conclusions about the Armour hot dog can) of what this Walking Blog is about. There are many things I take note of on my walks. The route doesn't change, and the thoughts remain similar to each other, day after day. But they build. I relate them, and I take note of my surroundings, actively. I will write about the often-overlooked aspects of the side of a main road in Redford.

Why? This will come as I write more and more.
The purpose of this blog will develop, and as it does, I should note that too. Notes.

Notes. The music and poetry of repetitive motion. Walking life. Waking life. Note it all, write it, elaborate, make it musical, sensical, stark.