1,001 Chicago Afternoons

The sirens sped up to the Thompson Center as a suit-wearing type on the sidewalk next to me swore about the traffic that would cause.

I thought the sirens were for the spectacle unfolding in the State of Illinois building outdoor plaza, where under bright lights several men recited names to rows of chairs piebald with a few scattered seat-fillers here and there. » Read the rest of this entry «

A young man in a long coat and short-brimmed fedora stood on the sunny sidewalk, looking around while writing on a folded sheet of paper he braced with a book. He caught me peering so I made up a lie about being interested in what he was reading. » Read the rest of this entry «

“Oh, Amy. I can’t go past there; I have alcohol.”

“Her name was Mousey.”

“That’s the medium size.” » Read the rest of this entry «

They laughed and did acrobatics in the rain, because that’s what the young do.

They ran across the slick pavement before slamming the brakes on high-end sneakers so they would skid and slide like ice skaters across the pools forming on gray concrete. » Read the rest of this entry «

Along the river where the office buildings make a concerted effort to stink of power, there’s a little bar with a cutesy name that will be funny to lawyers. » Read the rest of this entry «

Millennium Park is how people in the 1960s imagined the future.

It’s Starfleet Command, where a multi-ethnic group of happy people wander among shiny buildings and modern arty looking things made by space aliens (or in this case, Frank Gehry). Even the guards travel around by Segway, a machine the producers of Logan’s Run would have considered a little over the top. » Read the rest of this entry «

The Apostles of the Library L stop were all black, as they said the Bible said. » Read the rest of this entry «

I was there when the thousands roared and took to the streets. I was there when the unions joined, when South Side teachers walked side by side with North Side hipsters, pushing their way down Michigan screaming slogans a thousand people and several blocks long.

And I was there when the cold whittled down Occupy Chicago to a guy named Steve. » Read the rest of this entry «

He looked about 19 when he started arguing with the cops and about 7 when he finished. » Read the rest of this entry «

Was it cold on the ledge? Did the wind cut at you?

Did the lakeside damp wet your clothes, making them cling and clutch? Did the fog condense on your face, making it look like you were crying, a little lost girl on the 42nd floor ledge screaming for the firemen to stay back?

It sure looked cold from the ground. Sorry the show went on. » Read the rest of this entry «