//------------------------------//
// Searching Things 
// Story: The Things Tavi Says 
// by shortskirtsandexplosions 
//------------------------------//

	Twenty blocks of filth later and already I've lost track of time.

The night hangs dead above me.  I am the only light.

I trot down streets full of broken glass.

I shuffle across grimy intersections.

There's garbage and decay in my path.  I take any and all avenues.  I don't care.  I make every turn I need to put as much distance between myself and the river.

Muggers and thugs could attack me at any moment.  Let them.  It's nothing worst than I could do to myself.

Coincidentally, I find myself shuffling into an aura of clean light.

I squint into the district in front of me.  Bodies are moving.  Ponies are living.  I discover that I've stumbled into downtown... the prettier downtown.  This is the part of Detrot that the city's willing to show to tourists... and to themselves.

Restaurants glisten with hanging light bulbs.  Patrons eat fearlessly outside on balconies, served on by waiters in immaculate suits.  I even hear the giggle of children playing as they chase each other in a nearby park.

I shuffle through the glitter.  It's a strange thing—to do this without headphones.  Gone is my concentration, replaced by the kaleidoscope of urban noises splashing all around me.  It's my first taste of vibrance since I limped out of the hotel—a sobbing mess.

Nopony in particular glances my way.  Perhaps—without my shades and headphones—I'm just like any one of them.  DJ-P0N3 is a household name, and we are leagues... leagues away from any sane household.  Who should be bothered to guess that I was almost minutes away from becoming pavement pasta just a while ago?

Once again, I feel the nausea.  The stagecoaches to my left are shiny—and I can almost see my sickening reflection.  So, I force my naked eyes to the right, squinting as I pass row after row of golden-lit storefronts.  This is the wealthiest part of Detrot, which is not saying much.  I brush past multiple establishments full of over-priced nick-nacks, all Tartarus-bent on grabbing an impulse buy from the well-to-do patrons who visit this little island in the middle of urban misery.

For the most part, I'm disinterested, until I stumble upon a records store.  Here, multiple hipster ponies who otherwise wouldn't be caught dead in this part of Equestria stand about... mill about... shuffling through row after row of vinyls—both contemporary and antique.

And...

For whatever reason...

I step inside.

I'm on a mission and I don't even know it.  My heartbeat is so calm.  My breaths so regular.

I make my way immediately for the "Rhythm and Blues" section.  I scan the aisles for signage, smelling dust and the immortal scent of creased, papery record covers.  At last, I find the letter "C," and I shift through all of the available albums in that section.

Half-an-hour later, I'm standing on the far side of the shore, looking through the "Discount Pop" aisle.  As if that didn't make me feel desperate enough, I hear the impatient hoof-tap of the front counter salespony.  It's near closing time, and I'm the only one here.

I sigh... a brief relief of magenta.

What did I expect to find?

This city either drove away or murdered all of its culture.

What's left of it, Detrot only wants to forget.

So I leave the store with a frown... and it's more tasty than Dr. Pony.  I think about the hotel, and there's no single square inch of my body that can even contemplate sleep at the moment.

If ever.

Goddess... I have to get out of this damn, stupid city.

And so I do.