July 22nd, 2013 § permalink
A noodle shop in Little Vietnam.
“So first of all it wasn’t actually technically called ‘the Nut Hut,’” she said. “In fact I’m not sure what its official name was as a licensed business, because it was a licensed business.” » Read the rest of this entry «
July 19th, 2013 § permalink
The city breathes at night.
After a locked-in day of heat and sun, we want to get out once the light goes away and we’re left with a wind whose only virtue is not being as hot as it was earlier.
Under dark skies, we go to bars or eat on patios. Dogs must be walked and long hair must be tousled as women and men stalk the sidewalks for ice cream, frogurt or just to get out and breathe. » Read the rest of this entry «
July 17th, 2013 § permalink
The afterlife has wine poured in plastic cups. And it has beautiful photos up on white walls. And it has old friends and old not-so-friends, all giving hugs and patting each other on the shoulders.
It has handshakes and gossip and catching up and sympathy, so much sympathy. » Read the rest of this entry «
July 15th, 2013 § permalink
“Can anyone tell who this is?” the gray-haired librarian said, holding up a thin, purple sheet of plastic with two mussed-up faces burnished in.
The two middle-aged ladies and I shook our heads. I guessed “The guy from ‘The Hangover,’” but it was not Zach Galifianakis. The librarian, a smiling man with a plaid shirt and a CPL lanyard hanging around his neck, waited for a few more guesses that never came.
“It’s Harold Washington,” he said. » Read the rest of this entry «
July 12th, 2013 § permalink
Sitting on a stool on a round platform in a storefront window at the foot of the Clark Street bridge, I locked my eyes on the plastic owl as commanded.
“T-minus three, two, one,” a shaved-head man in jeans and a black T-shirt said.
Then I started to rotate. » Read the rest of this entry «
July 10th, 2013 § permalink
“Concussion!” the man in the pleated plaid pants and the flowing white shirt yelled into his phone. “He doesn’t know the meaning of the word. I know concussions. He’ll know it when he starts fighting.” » Read the rest of this entry «
July 8th, 2013 § permalink
The birdbath was the one thing people weren’t supposed to take from the five-foot garden at Avers and Lawrence.
A sense of peace, a sense of joy, a sense of pride in the community, sure. Even the chives, tomatoes and spearmint planted in the little grassy area between street and sidewalk were there to vanish.
“Just for people to take,” said Nancy Leginski, 73, of the Jensen Community Organization. “There are hungry people in Albany Park.”
But the birdbath wasn’t there to be taken. So that’s what someone did. » Read the rest of this entry «
July 5th, 2013 § permalink
She was a hefty, slow-moving beast with a staggeringly stunning smile.
She was large, I won’t lie about that. Dramatically large, apparently sampling the wares of work for lunch and dinner most days. A Wendy’s uniform isn’t a flattering thing on the most trim. She was a sea of apron squooshed under a little visor hat.
But then there was that smile. I fell in love a little. » Read the rest of this entry «
July 3rd, 2013 § permalink
The woman’s word was “pertly.”
She smiled pertly as she moved from table to table in the hotel lobby. She moved pertly too. Her long, blonde hair, as much a part of the waitstaff uniform as her blue button-up and her black slacks, bobbed pertly as she pertly sidestepped some inconsiderately placed luggage to bring me my scotch. » Read the rest of this entry «
July 1st, 2013 § permalink
He walked down the street in a Blackhawks jersey, hat kicked backward. As he crossed the intersection, he hoisted to the honks of the cars a silver spray painted Stanley Cup he made out of a five-gallon water cooler bottle and a plastic bowl.
“You make that?” I asked.
“Made it, bro? It’s the real thing!” the young, bearded man said, pumping it in my face and giving a slight sports fan werewolf wooo. » Read the rest of this entry «
