I think Robert Frost or somebody wrote a poem about how a derive in springtime is always a magical experience. Maybe it was Walt Whitman? Anyway, I would recommend it, if you have the opportunity. Walking through alleys in Clintonville would be my suggestion. Maybe balance that out with a stroll down the railroad tracks next to I-71. It's a snapshot in time, but the psychogeographic contours of the city seem much more inviting than other times of year.
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