September 30th, 2013 § permalink
We strode in, side by side. We bellied up to the bar off Division in Humboldt Park.
“Dead Guy,” my friend muttered.
“Daisy Cutter,” I piped up, chirping “Thank you!” to the bartender after I realized I didn’t say please.
Oh yeah. Men there to watch the football game. » Read the rest of this entry «
September 27th, 2013 § permalink
On the long slog chunk of a September afternoon, getting to that time of year when 5 p.m. means slanting light and a sky yellowing into sunset, tired workers in shirts and ties or skirts and jackets slouched through River North on their way anywhere else.
A bubble wafted down. » Read the rest of this entry «
September 25th, 2013 § permalink
From the top of the Metra platform, the helicopter looked like it was hovering over the Best Buy.
It wasn’t of course. It was probably hovering over the highway, looking down on the early morning push of cars in and out of the city in a cold, snipping wind before the sun even has a chance to turn the purple sky sunrise orange.
September 23rd, 2013 § permalink
Herbert Hinchliffe is a name on the wall of a building I first passed by riding my bike to an interview with a lady who makes ladies underwear.
It’s a red brick garage-style building at Carroll and Damen in the Kinzie Industrial Corridor TIF district. It’s old and nondescript, a garage with doors on Carroll and a big wall along Damen, red and silent but for the words “Herbert Hinchliffe” in gray stone near the top. » Read the rest of this entry «
September 20th, 2013 § permalink
Everyone gathered on the damp gravel tensed as they heard the voice. » Read the rest of this entry «
September 18th, 2013 § permalink
The mountains of Aïn Draham seem far away from the big table.
The big table takes up most of the space on the back deck of the top-floor apartment. It’s surrounded by potted plants, including the one that provided the sprigs of mint Allie Deaver would soon put in the heavily sugared green tea she was making with a Tunisian recipe.
The big table is on a deck at an apartment building in a pocket neighborhood in Edgewater. Aïn Draham is in the Jendouba Governorate in northwestern Tunisia. » Read the rest of this entry «
September 16th, 2013 § permalink
A splash of red in a glass as the rain drips softly outside the window. » Read the rest of this entry «
September 13th, 2013 § permalink
He grabbed the handlebars of the Razor Scooter and tried to plow her into the chain link fence.
She laughed. She laughed and tried to pull away, leaning to make the Razor fall out of its descent into the chain link. Then, as her shoulders pulled left and his pulled right, they touched. » Read the rest of this entry «
September 11th, 2013 § permalink
The newspaper man finds an old lady to share the gossip when he parachutes into a low-income neighborhood after a killing. » Read the rest of this entry «
September 9th, 2013 § permalink
“Mind if I take a picture of you for a Polish newspaper? You have the most amazing mustache. The Germans don’t have handlebar mustaches and they should. You would think they would have handlebar mustaches, but they don’t. You have the most amazing mustache and I would love to take a picture of it for my Polish newspaper.”
He was thin and short with close-cropped black hair and a bit of peach fuzz whisker on his lip. He had a camera dangling around a gangly neck. He never so much smiled as pulled back his lips to show more tooth. » Read the rest of this entry «
