Drain City

Matt took me and T.J. into the ghetto last night. We all hopped out of the Lexus, stepped around to the trunk, took our backpacks out, put them on and strode down Capitol as if all in one motion.
Matt, looking serious as ever and staring straight ahead said, “On three, you’re following me over this wall. One, two… whoa shit that’s higher than I expected,” and yet, he still leaped over the concrete barrier.
I didn’t hesitate to follow him over, and T.J. immediately behind me. Instantly upon hitting the grassy riverbed, we heard sirens. Not one of us thought we were in trouble. We’re in the ghetto— the last of their worries should be a couple Upper East Side kids trespassing. And we we’re right. An ambulance pulled up right where we had jumped over. It seemed the perfect distraction; no one would notice the three of us slinking away into the Milwaukee drain system.

With boots on and lamps in hand, we quickly tagged and entered one of the 8 by 10 foot rectangle drains. After miles, we came across a knife here, some spoons there, a Walmart gift card, and some guy named Rashid’s driver’s license. It’s seemed this drain was a bummer; we hadn’t intersected with any others or found anything worthwhile. Matt flashed his bright light one last time before we turned around, and both Matt and T.J. let out an excited giggle (what we refer to as “geeking out”).

It was an intersection where three drains united. We chose the route down the 12-footer, and by this I mean a round pipe 12 feet in diameter. It wasn’t as big as the drain we refer to as “Pillar” but it was still breathtaking. Within minutes of walking we could hear the roar of another drain emptying into ours. Sure enough, a few pipes were emptying into the 12-footer and in one of the rarest, most “gnarly” forms.

It was a drop shaft, made entirely of brick, and at the very top near the manhole, it was cream city brick, the oldest in Milwaukee. We climbed the service ladder up into another drain about 10 feet above. We reached similar shafts 3 more times before the higher drains were too small to explore.

Of all events last night, the most exhilaration I experienced was from the tallest drop shaft we climbed. Heading back out, it’s like shimmying down next to a man-made waterfall. Ya know, the beauty of drains is that it’s always between 60 and 70 degrees. It doesn’t smell like some might think; in fact, for a stretch of drain I was overwhelmed with the scent of laundry detergent. And lastly, there’s no one around; at least, no one but whom you invite. And while you’re down there, you feel like the only people in the world.

It’s utter darkness, black nothingness, that we walk through and leave behind as we stroll with our lamps. It’s as if these places don’t exist until we decide to invade them.

I ought not glamorize this too much. It’d take away from the sanctuary it is if people began flocking to all the city’s drains at night. I’ll just make the safe bet that this doesn’t sound as nice to all of you as it does to me.