1,001 Chicago Afternoons

As the blood pooled in my knees on the riser and the ventilation licked dry the spot of sacred water on my forehead, I smiled and recited the Our Father, the Hail Mary, the Glory Be. I don’t believe in God. » Read the rest of this entry «

Gently so gently, the balding man of indeterminate ethnicity traced the edges of my shoe with a wet, black brush.

He was intent on his work, on not touching the worn leather he had just buffed and burnished, evening out the sand-colored scuffs and chestnut wear into an allover rich umber.

I asked what was on the giant toothbrush gently tarring the rubber edges of my shoe. He mumbled something. I asked again.

“Sole dressing,” he said, looking me in the eye. » Read the rest of this entry «

Down Noble from Hubbard, past a totalitarian building marked ILTACO, past a restaurant named after a John Hughes film, past an apartment building, a few sad winter trees and a scaffold jungle gym of high voltage lines lies the cave of the blob monster. » Read the rest of this entry «

I noticed the pigeon pacing along the Pink Line platform had a band on its ankle, which was pretty keen of me considering how much my head hurt.

My phone buzzed.

“I’m listening to the wbez live show- did you make it down there?” the text read. » Read the rest of this entry «