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 5th, 2016 § permalink
Along Kinzie, a dog was taking a crap in Wabonsia, Illinois.
It was the gated dog park within the gated downtown community of Kinzie Park, an early 2000s ritzification of the stretch south of “Little Hell.” A few steps west of the crapping pedigrees, a jogger swiped his way past the security station meant to keep us scrubs out of the $2.2 million for a condo condo complex.
Beyond that, overhead Metra tracks dangled with icicles. Then, crackle-pavemented parking lots for the Blommer Chocolate Factory that scents the region. It’s a nothing stretch, a passby for passersby biking or driving out from work.
But this was once Wabonsia, Illinois, a separate legal entity from the town of Chicago growing to the south. » Read the rest of this entry «
June 19th, 2013 § permalink
The leg moved the pedals round, a thin metal band strapping the ankle in place.
The ankle bent in the proper places, the plastic and metal giving and moving along the pedals’ arc. Circles within circles as the ankle connected up to a plastic calf nearly tortoiseshell in its brindled browns and green. It moved the pedal moving the gear moving the chain in perfect precision with the woman’s other leg, the one still made of muscle and bone. Circle. Circle. I was reminded of automata. » Read the rest of this entry «
February 15th, 2013 § permalink
The big man took my $20 bill, set it on the cash register keypad, stared at it for a second, then shook himself alert.
“You wanted that wrapped, right?” he said.
I said yes.
“Sorry,” he said, counting $16 in change. “I’m losing my mind from all these Valentine’s Day orders coming in.” » Read the rest of this entry «
