August 14th, 2013 § permalink
His earliest memory was realizing his penis looked different than his brothers’.
“The doctor who did my circumcision has been called incompetent,” the now-white-haired man said as the crowd whipped by to get to the Red Line Grand stop. » Read the rest of this entry «
August 12th, 2013 § permalink
“Mother Carter, can we sing another song this week?” the puppet asked the old woman.
“When I was a little girl growing up in Michigan, we used to hear the farmers singing to the crops. They would stand at the edge of the field and they would sing to the crops to help them grow. So this next song is called a corn holler,” the woman said before she, the fiddler and the puppet started to sing.
None of this is true. » Read the rest of this entry «
August 9th, 2013 § permalink
The apartment isn’t old, really. It’s no older than any other of the Chicago-style two-flats lining this little residential slip just a hair east of Western.
But it is old, teeming with history. The family has lived there 90 years, Arden Joy says. Her mother lives there now, she says as she walks you past the vintage typewriter at the top of the stairwell. Her grandmother lives on the first floor. » Read the rest of this entry «
August 7th, 2013 § permalink
Dottie wasn’t girly. Her sister Girlie was girly. » Read the rest of this entry «
August 5th, 2013 § permalink
“Sometimes the guys do get really angry when they figure out that they’ve just dropped a thousand bucks and they’re not getting any. And to be fair, I would be angry too.” » Read the rest of this entry «
August 2nd, 2013 § permalink
My biggest professional shame is when I chickened out on writing a story where I knew I was right.
It was in the ‘burbs, so it wasn’t a Chicago story, but the themes of friend-friend deals, smiles and handshakes and winks and timing on contracts that they don’t want anyone to put together are the same. This one just happened in bucolia, where people are smiling and happy and rich and THINGS LIKE THIS don’t happen here. » Read the rest of this entry «
July 31st, 2013 § permalink
On the windy grass outcrop bulge created by the funnel pull into Diversey Harbor, a shirtless man kicks the air next to a cast aluminum and steel eagle. » Read the rest of this entry «
July 29th, 2013 § permalink
“So they’re in a bath towel, right? Like their luxury spa bath towel from Walmart. But you’re way more vulnerable and starting to get a little bit more excited and thus more willing to part with your money at that point,” she said as I poked at a menacing-looking bit of my Vietnamese noodle soup.
“Kind of like in a doctor’s office,” she continued. “You’re naked and he’s in a coat and whatever he says goes because, you know, he’s the guy in the coat and you’re naked.”
She took a big, slurping bite of mi xao. » Read the rest of this entry «
July 26th, 2013 § permalink
A short-brimmed fedora can also be called a “trilby.”
The three men standing by the potted trees in the little courtyard with the pigeon-covered Sioux on a horse at Michigan and Congress were all wearing them.
And one two three, all the trilbies started to nod. » Read the rest of this entry «
July 24th, 2013 § permalink
Clink. Clink.
One of the old men leaned against a tree. Another pulled an arm back underhand, then swung something forward. The five or so men all followed the something’s path with their heads.
Clink. Clink. » Read the rest of this entry «
