1,001 Chicago Afternoons

“And then when you’re in the hospital, I’d put a coffin in there as a joke,” a voice said.

“There’ll be no joke, because I’ll kill you when I get out,” a second responded.

“You will have a heart problem worry like that,” a third voice said.

They were teen boys on the bus, sitting in the back, laughing and threatening each other as teen boys who really like each other do. » Read the rest of this entry «

I own a hockey jersey now.

It’s black with red hockey sticks crossed pirate-style, which is pretty badass. And it’s number 13, which is also pretty badass. And there’s a patch on the sleeve that says “Danielle’s Bat Mitzvah, November 15, 2008,” which is less badass and also made me realize that the jersey number is not really that badass after all.

But I bought the 13-year-old girl’s jersey… I’m sorry, 13-year-old woman’s jersey from her hockey-themed Bat Mitzvah anyway. Because I was a Canadian for the 2013 Chiditarod charity shopping cart race. » Read the rest of this entry «

The little girls paused below the flashing lights of Rothschild Liquors, Minnie Mouse being so bold as to pull on the door handle.

Raggedy Ann and the garden-variety princess stood back, watching the older girl pull back and hang off the door in that way little kids have of making everything a game. Their parents rushed up to suggest, not tell, that maybe this wasn’t the store for them. » Read the rest of this entry «

The bartender poured a pint full of froth, frowned at it and poured it out. He then did it again. And again.

“By the end of the night when it’s been pouring all night, it’ll be fine, but it takes like 10 beers to pour one good one,” he said by way of apology. » Read the rest of this entry «

Once upon a time in the land known as West Town, a freelance writer realized that if he didn’t leave his house, he would watch YouTube episodes of “Scrubs” all day and never finish that magazine story. » Read the rest of this entry «