January 16th, 2013 § permalink
Kathleen hadn’t seen the oboist’s twin sister in 15 years.
“Our kids were in the sixth grade,” she said as we sat down at our table in the Garfield Park Conservatory’s Horticulture Room.
To clarify, the oboist’s twin sister didn’t have sixth-graders all those years ago — she was one of the sixth-graders. Also to clarify, Kathleen and I were complete strangers. » Read the rest of this entry «
January 14th, 2013 § permalink
Surrounded by palm trees inside the glowing steampunk UFO of the Garfield Park Conservatory, a woman who made her glockenspiel out of a series of hardware store plumbing pipes explained the rules to me.
I was going to write the symphony. » Read the rest of this entry «
January 11th, 2013 § permalink
The old woman did a little dance behind the Kmart register.
“I’m almost done!” she yelled as a friend walked by.
She was old and gray, her smile cracking into the deep creases and folds of her skin. I was buying a clothes drying rack and new dress socks. » Read the rest of this entry «
January 9th, 2013 § permalink
There were six hands but only 23 fingers wrapped around the pole on the Blue Line train. » Read the rest of this entry «
January 7th, 2013 § permalink
The young guy yelled “Hey!” as he walked by, then turned back to giggle at me shooting up in the seat and swinging my arms around.
“We’re here,” he said.
“Oh. Uh,” I said, wiping my mouth to make sure there was no drool. “Thanks.” » Read the rest of this entry «
January 4th, 2013 § permalink
The middle-aged woman with the short, red-dyed hair burst into the shop and asked in a thick, Hispanic accent if they had Hit-Girl #5 yet.
The heavy man, bald as Lex Luthor but with a beard worthy of Niles Caulder, looked up from the book he was reading on the couch, blinked and said yes they did. He then directed her to It Girl #5.
In all fairness, it was a very thick accent. » Read the rest of this entry «
January 2nd, 2013 § permalink
The lovers walk by the pro shop that looks like a castle. The joggers tread lightly over the ice as the dog walkers let their companions off the leash.
And a few emo souls like me stand by the lake to think in the new year. » Read the rest of this entry «
December 31st, 2012 § permalink
In order to get to Kansas, I had to let a government worker touch my penis. » Read the rest of this entry «
December 28th, 2012 § permalink
A student at the college where I teach recently interviewed me for an assignment for a different class. One of her questions was if I had anything I would prefer to write about.
I told her about lead in the soil in Englewood and the decades the Fisk and Crawford coal plants spent reeking the air in Pilsen and Little Village. I told her about science, about politics and poverty and how the three meet in ways the majority of the world walks by without giving a second glance.
What was I supposed to tell her? That I want to write about haircuts? » Read the rest of this entry «
December 26th, 2012 § permalink
A blizzard a blur a whirl of cash registers and make-up girls and transactions and credit cards and debt and Walnut and rich, milky, minty chocolates. » Read the rest of this entry «
