Heavy and hunched and with a face like a chipping wax statue, James walked up and told me to recycle the books. » Read the rest of this entry «
#23: Rise of the Water Bottles
June 20th, 2012 § permalink
Chicago’s in a deep-bone hot, one that settles in. Some heats lay flat on you, but this one and the thick wind stirring it get inside you. You walk and move and realize later you’re fat with sweat.
And then the water bottle people come. » Read the rest of this entry «
#22: The PR Blitz
June 18th, 2012 § permalink
Division Street is a patchwork of sights and sounds the third weekend of every June.
It’s splashes of red, white, blue. It’s salsa beats coming from bars, from flag-waving cars, from storefronts and restaurants along the street. People camped on the sidewalk sell everything from balloon hammers to baby turtles.
It’s Puerto Rican Fest in Humboldt Park. » Read the rest of this entry «
#21: Scenes From Occupy Chicago: Steve and the Tattoo-Face Man
June 15th, 2012 § permalink
I was there when the thousands roared and took to the streets. I was there when the unions joined, when South Side teachers walked side by side with North Side hipsters, pushing their way down Michigan screaming slogans a thousand people and several blocks long.
And I was there when the cold whittled down Occupy Chicago to a guy named Steve. » Read the rest of this entry «
#20: Scenes From Occupy Chicago: The Lion and the Bike Cop
June 13th, 2012 § permalink
He looked about 19 when he started arguing with the cops and about 7 when he finished. » Read the rest of this entry «
#19: Objections D’Art
June 11th, 2012 § permalink
It had a jukebox so old it was filled with polkas, waltzes and “Happy Birthday,” a lit-up pentagram from an Order of the Eastern Star lodge, at least six wood-carved Argentinian foosball tables and a music festival I didn’t give two craps about. » Read the rest of this entry «
#18: The Human Addict
June 8th, 2012 § permalink
He was the first person I ever saw who, after begging for money “to get on the bus,” got on the bus. » Read the rest of this entry «
#17: Crowd Control
June 6th, 2012 § permalink
“Duck!” the tiny Mexican man in the camo jacket screamed in the face of his gigantic black friend.
When the nerdy looking Goliath in the Terrell Owens jersey got as low as he could, the little bearded one hucked his crushed PBR can into the crowd. A white girl three people behind him and 20 inches away laid a lazy slap on the small man’s shoulder. » Read the rest of this entry «
#16: Hats
June 4th, 2012 § permalink
He smiled — and apparently ate — like the Buddha.
It wasn’t his Buddha-smile that attracted me to the strange, enormously fat man propping himself on the iron railing guarding the collection of beachside shrubs between the bike trail and condo blocks. It wasn’t the shirt colored what people who’ve never hear of clouds or pollution call sky blue. It wasn’t the big, black suspenders and comically undersized dog which both seemed to have no purpose other than to make the huge man seem huger. It was none of those things that attracted me to this beatific Ollie Hardy sunning himself along the shrubs and sand.
It was his silly-ass boater hat. » Read the rest of this entry «
#15: Skrkl-skrkl and the Hole in the Plot
June 1st, 2012 § permalink
Another day on the train, another eastward eve with a view by the window of all the fun I’m not having, all the spring I’m not enjoying. Skrkl-skrkl.
I’m tired of the day, tired of the job and tired of trying to stare at Virgil’s Georgics until the words make even the slightest bit of sense. Skrkl-skrkl. What made me think this was a train book? It’s a book for reading in an Italian villa while wearing a flowing, unbuttoned skrkl white man-blouse like Percy Bysshe AND WHAT IS THAT GODDAMNED SKRKL-SKRKL SOUND? » Read the rest of this entry «
