August 21st, 2017 § permalink
The car in front of us was a BMW, that’s what I noticed first.
It made sense, of course. Calumet Fisheries on the 95th Street Bridge is for all comers. Rich and poor, young and old, black and brown and white all file in by car or bike to the little shack on the Calumet River. » Read the rest of this entry «
August 18th, 2017 § permalink
On Monday, the sky will darken, and we’ll see a universe greater than we can ever hope to be.
If we choose to use it. » Read the rest of this entry «
August 16th, 2017 § permalink
A child I knew just killed a man. » Read the rest of this entry «
August 14th, 2017 § permalink
We sang Chicago to each other.
We sang its highs and lows. We sang its long, straight streets perfect for getting lost when you’re in the mood to do so. We sang the communities that made us young black girls and the bars that made us wild and wanton gentrifiers.
And I even got a free pin. » Read the rest of this entry «
August 11th, 2017 § permalink
4-1-90
Happy Birthday. I hope you have a good one. It’s nice you won’t have to work.
I hope you enjoy the book and remember your sister while your reading it. I love you. Enjoy your birthday.
Love your sis,
Cheryl
I put the spray-painted copper copy of “Clear and Present Danger” back on the shelf in the fake child’s room. It slid easily between similarly coppered copies of “A Monetary History of the United States 1867-1960” and a Tom Clancy’s “Without Remorse” that, based on a stamp on the title page, once belonged to a dentist from Santa Rosa, California. » Read the rest of this entry «
August 9th, 2017 § permalink
Wrigleyville when the Cubs aren’t playing is a desolate place.
The economy has girded itself to boom and bust. The lines of bars stand vacant, save for a barkeep idly tapping an iPad or a geared-up waitress in V-neck T and skirt staring longingly out the window. The empty merch stores get a rare chance to straighten their wares and even the beggars seem content to let the odd passerby go unquestioned.
At the field that feeds the neighborhood, the TV screens on the upper level outdoor bar patio show a multicolor test pattern, as the famous Wrigley sign sings an electronic message to lonely, fanless streets:
“Vital Proteins, Official Collagen of the Chicago Cubs” » Read the rest of this entry «
August 7th, 2017 § permalink
The water still laps in the morning. The gulls still swoop and the geese still make too-low passes that make you wonder about dive-bomb threats to your health and hygiene.
There’s still a city to the south and safe-wrapped suburbia to the north. And if the sun glints at a different angle between a.m. and p., it does so over the same sand and prairie grass.
There’s still a concrete pier shaped like a question mark jutting out into the water. » Read the rest of this entry «
August 4th, 2017 § permalink
One of the more grandiose dreams of this project is to chart for future historians what Chicago was really like.
I’d like a future researcher to stumble on whatever online archives come, and fall in love some line I wrote about how Chicago in 2K17 looked, sounded, smelled. I want to provide a bit of color, an unattributed quote in some future textbook about the lives and migratory patterns of Great North American Chicagoan in the dawn of the 2000s.
Unfortunately, “what it was like” is less and less “what makes it unique” each day.
So for this blog, this post, this day in the future’s history, I’m looking at a Starbucks. » Read the rest of this entry «
August 2nd, 2017 § permalink
There’s no such thing as silence in a city.
Oh, I’m sure there are empty rooms, abandoned corridors, deep dank tunnels where all you can here is the drip drip drip of a long-forgotten pipe.
But in general, the lapping of the water and screaming of sanctuary birds is the best chance we have. » Read the rest of this entry «
July 31st, 2017 § permalink
Chicago tastes like kimchi and sausage. It takes like bulgogi beef and a side of fries.
Chicago looks like a Saturday night in Bridgeport as the sun dips down into the suburbs and the strings of bulbs flip on over a restaurant’s walled but open-air seating area.
It sounds like parties. It sounds like laughter of friends, the cheers of a tattooed crowd’s surprise birthday and the flirting of the various couples sprinkled throughout Maria’s Community Bar and associated Kimski restaurant touching and eyefucking their way through first, second, third, 85th dates. » Read the rest of this entry «
