1,001 Chicago Afternoons

500. Half a thou. D, to the ancient Romans. As close to the halfway point of the project as an odd-numbered goal allows.

So what should I write this milestone story about?

I decided to toss that question to the folks who made up the first 499, asking the people who got me this far how I should kick off the second half. » Read the rest of this entry «

A sweaty night, stepping off the Skytrain Ratchathewi stop and wandering down an alley past street vendors selling cuttlefish on a stick and rows of mini-dress women calling “Massage? Massage? You want massage?”

Bangkok smells amazing in season, especially during the endless nights. Squid and chicken steaming from a cart. Spices and a sultry damp. The Thai capital can smell like the sweat-breath of an alluring stranger leaning in to whisper you a secret.

And sometimes it smells like someone peed on a dog. » Read the rest of this entry «

Charles Henry is not a bum off the street. I know this because he told me twice.

The first time was at the Blue Line Western stop when he meandered up to the bench I had claimed for sipping coffee and eating Combos.

“Excuse me. I’m not a bum off the street,” he said, holding out a small leather clutch full of diabetes testing supplies. » Read the rest of this entry «

There’s a place on Milwaukee where you have to cross two lanes of traffic uphill to get into the left-turning bike lane. » Read the rest of this entry «

We’re both sitting on the train on opposite sides of the aisles. I got a backward-facing seat, he got one looking forward.

Young guy. Beard and a stocking cap. Headphones playing, I’m sure, the coolest of tunes. Jean jacket that somehow looked good on him.

And he and I both blocked out the world with large, old-fashioned Ray Ban knockoff tortoiseshell sunglasses. » Read the rest of this entry «

“I don’t care what they say,” 1143 told me. “You see that building on the corner, the glass one? Behind that there was a four-story, a two-story office building. And in 1979, the executives, there were these eight executives, and they lined up four by four and shot each other.” » Read the rest of this entry «

Part 1

The Red Line doors opened and I knew I wouldn’t be getting in.

It was the Grand station a few after 5. Downtown workers and shoppers poured down the various staircases, escalators and elevators to the subway to pool on the platform waiting for the train.

Dinging, whooshing, the train arrived.

A street person was sprawled along the floor of the train car, blocking the doorway. » Read the rest of this entry «

“Divorce, divorce, divorce,” the old cabbie said in a thick Korean accent, waving his hand in the air as if to wipe the word away. “This crazy country. Maybe if you had to-”

Here he struggled for a word.

“Work hard for the warm bed and-”

He struggled again.

“Full belly, you not have time to monkey around, eh?”

He laughed hard, trying to catch my eye in the rearview mirror so he was more than long gray scraggles sticking from the back of a flat cap. » Read the rest of this entry «

A rumbling, trundling train shikky shaking south on the Brown Line tracks, the car’s floor whitened with the dusky winter swirls of dripped then dried snow and salt from commuter boots.

And an ad on the wall saying Le Cordon Bleu is “The #1 Culinary School in America*” » Read the rest of this entry «

For the last several weeks, my commute has been haunted by a Wookiee. » Read the rest of this entry «