October 31st, 2018 § permalink
The North Side was a blur, as it should have been. I tried to play catch-up after lingering so long on the South. I was out of energy, out of sweat, felt bile rising in my stomach and my legs burned. I do OK for what I am, but I was not in shape for this weekend warrior nonsense.
And I couldn’t stop laughing.
Down some water. Laugh. Dip among traffic. Laugh. Cram an energy bar and stop by the tampon boxes, fast food wrappers and museum-pimping statuary that pool along the spot the Roosevelt Road bridge overlooks both river and the vacant Rezkoville and I laugh laugh laugh. » Read the rest of this entry «
February 10th, 2017 § permalink
The entirety of American political history can be found at an old polling place somewhere along the north branch of the Chicago River. » Read the rest of this entry «
September 7th, 2016 § permalink
The globe is black and white, paved with little cars. » Read the rest of this entry «
June 6th, 2016 § permalink
He shuffled into the train, a thin, fussy old white man wearing New Balance sneakers over brown socks.
He wore light khakis. He wore a checked button-up shirt under a cardigan under another cardigan.
He looked around, his fine mustache twitching, and found a spot. From his canvas bag advertising the Environmental Law and Policy Center, he pulled a folded-over copy of the New York Times. He pushed his thin bifocals up on his nose, twitched the ‘stache a time or two more and proceeded to read the Times, article by article, in order. » Read the rest of this entry «
June 5th, 2015 § permalink
It was a birthday party years ago, one that hadn’t gone too well.
He was a local boy turning 26, an old friend who had quit a downtown ad job where he was popular and loved to start a new, yet-to-be-defined new life. He was in the process of losing touch with his old friend workmates. His new ones were transient and weird, also filling a lifting-and-hauling job while we figured our own next steps.
None of his old friends showed up at the bar that cold, wet night in an otherwise glorious summer. Only three of his new ones came. So in the wordless way young men have, the three of us decided to make it a night the birthday boy would remember.
Oh we drank. We drank and we talked and we yelled and we bought. The sole married one of the party soon headed home, leaving three men in their 20s spilling out into the night.
I don’t remember who decided to climb up onto the Bloomingdale Trail. » Read the rest of this entry «
