1,001 Chicago Afternoons

Peace to the old man sipping drinks at the VFW bar.

And the bagpiper on the condo roof.

Peace to the newsman, chasing stories for cartoons.

Peace to the lady who jammed in Tunisia.

And peace to the one who makes really sexy ladies’ underthings. » Read the rest of this entry «

The man with the dusty Obama/Biden cap, with the “Born to be Wild” leather vest that said he rode Harleys, with the natty-trimmed white-dappled mustache overlooking a tidy-trim soul patch has been coming to the beach since 1966.

“Every day,” he said as his fingers gently flitted along a recorder’s surface as the drumbeat slowed in the background. » Read the rest of this entry «