#971: The End of Bubbly Creek

August 24th, 2018 § permalink

At the end of Bubbly Creek, the southern fork of the Chicago River’s southern branch, where the meatpackers once dumped blood, guts and industry, where the bubbles of carbonic gas once burst in “rings two or three feet wide,” to quote the muckraker Upton, where men gathered filth for lard, skimming in scows the fat of the water, a tattooed bartender checks her phone waiting for the craft brewpub to open. » Read the rest of this entry «

#881: Remember Mr. Canoe

January 26th, 2018 § permalink

A man with dancing cats on his hands first told me about Mr. Canoe. » Read the rest of this entry «

#850: Barricades

November 15th, 2017 § permalink

There is a spot where the dollar stores no longer have chain-link fences and concertina wire rounding their roofs.

There’s a place along Illinois Route 1 — Halsted Street to Chicagoans — where the dollar stores just become dollar stores, no extra security needed in metal and mesh. Then there’s a place further north where they disappear entirely. » Read the rest of this entry «

#823: Taste of Chicago

July 31st, 2017 § permalink

Chicago tastes like kimchi and sausage. It takes like bulgogi beef and a side of fries.

Chicago looks like a Saturday night in Bridgeport as the sun dips down into the suburbs and the strings of bulbs flip on over a restaurant’s walled but open-air seating area.

It sounds like parties. It sounds like laughter of friends, the cheers of a tattooed crowd’s surprise birthday and the flirting of the various couples sprinkled throughout Maria’s Community Bar and associated Kimski restaurant touching and eyefucking their way through first, second, third, 85th dates. » Read the rest of this entry «

#443: The Wit and Whimsy of the Chicago Jagoff

February 25th, 2015 § permalink

Any night you end with a magazine you’re featured in and an original portrait of 1920s Mayor William Hale “Big Bill” Thompson is a good one. » Read the rest of this entry «

#207: Zebra’s of Bridgeport

August 23rd, 2013 § permalink

She sat at a table by the men’s bathroom at the back of the restaurant, playing solitaire on a laptop as a Peter Francis Geraci commercial interrupted “Judge Joe Brown” on the opposite wall. » Read the rest of this entry «

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