His clan, the Urban Exploration League, is part of a loose network of appreciative trespassers who have their own online magazine, Infiltration. One afternoon, McGrail and I park behind the mammoth carcass of Detroits Michigan Central Railroad Station and look around to see if the coast is clear. We slip up some steps hidden by underbrush and then were inside, where its chilly and dank. Our flashlights guiding the way, we slog through broken glass and oily puddles and step over charred timbers, water dripping on our hard hats all the while. Scattered across the floor now are broken chairs, a twisted bicycle frame, ornamental debris.
Sunlight streams in through a thousand shot-out windows.
A gust of wind sends a light fixture swinging menacingly overhead. Fondly McGrail fingers a wall tile. Its for details like those that he comes here. Later that day George Cantor and I go to the ball game. Comerica Park puts on a brilliant show, even if the Tigers cant live up to it.