If you ever want to know what the aftermath of a zombie apocalypse might feel like, go to Detroit. On a bright Wednesday in May, moving vehicles in the financial district are rare birds. Most of the cars I see are parked, as if abandoned. The gridlock, hurried pedestrians and noisy construction to signal big-city living are eerily absent. It’s too still for downtown, so quiet I can hear tree leaves rustling.

Walking down Woodward Avenue, sandwiched by gorgeous historic buildings, I can imagine Detroit’s former glory. This was probably their Champs-Élysées or 5th Avenue. But where is everybody now?

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