There once was an orange door
Down an alley off the ritzy street.
Down the alley, on the right side, the backs of houses. Luxury houses. Fancy brownstones a couple million a pop in the Near North Side. People walk toy dogs here.
On that right side of the alley, a lanky man in a polo shirt and expensive haircut starts an electric barbecue grill in a fenced-in back staircase. “Honey,” he calls, turning his head toward an unseen woman inside.
On the left side of the alley, a three-level parking garage. The fronts of SUVs and crossovers peek through the chain link saving the parked cars from alley dwellers like me and whoever scribbled “Trust Only Vandals” on one of the Dumpsters.
There once was an orange door here.
There once was an orange door and a sign that said “Step High, Stoop Low, Leave Your Dignity Outside.”
This yuppie alley once housed the Dill Pickle Club, the center of bohemian counterculture in the 1920s. » Read the rest of this entry «