By the highway

If you find yourself driving down the Kennedy outbound from Chicago to O’hare north of Foster you’ll see a wall. A massive onramp wall that’s ribbed with 6X6’s at an angle. Extending outward at a 30 degree angle roughly, they are driven into the ground, and are somehow affixed to it.

This wall looks like it’s ready to collapse and smash itself into bits like a crazy leaning tower of Pisa but it just doesn’t. Year after year the damn thing just persists like a hilarious ode to corruption of our fine city. Crafted a little sideways and askew for all the world to see.

 

Moment of recognition…

“So, what’s it like being with me?”

Instantly there was a lump in Enzo’s throat. There were two distinct feelings that hit him at once. Number one was the feeling of loss pertaining to his past wife. 2. Was a feeling of elation pertaining to the girl asking the question.

It hadn’t made quiet sense for a long time. It was kinetic, happy, funny, sad, hot, cold, and downright good in his gut.

There was way too much to ponder.

 

Strobe

Sitting in the pitch-black bedroom, only 17 years old. The two friends were transfixed, frying their eyes out. They had each dropped two hits of very strong acid.

Completely covering the floor laid out in a checkerboard pattern, were Eric’s LPs. Sitting on the couch, Adam had a strobe light propped on his knee. And periodically would turn it on creating a blast of light that made the neon colored posters on Eric’s wall POP three feet off the wall, only to sofly float back towards the wall into clomplete darkness.

Suddenly the door swung open! It was Eric’s mother. “Now Eric, be carefull not to step on these albums on the floor.”

“Yes ma’am.”

She quietly closed the door…followed by uncontrolable laughing.

 

Texas

“yes ma’am.” said the young proper nephew.

“please just call me Holly.” she said

“yes ma’am.”

Laughing. “Alright.” she said, realizing
It was deeply ingrained in his southern mind.

They sat down to share a meal, and peppered the conversation with quips, and stories of growing up. Of kids getting into trouble, and inevitably blowing stuff up.

 

Chicago

“How’d you like that, Black?”

“yep, no room is fine.”

In the high mounted speakers behind me was Sufjan Stevans’ playing the most appropriate song for this morning, ‘Chicago’.

The interior of the place was full of warmth, and post holiday calm. A perfect place to sit and desire life that was still yet to come. A life that fit together like a perfect socket wrench.

 

Boulle

“what’da mean you don’t have sourdough bread” “It’s an American breakfast staple.”

He barked at the waitress with a half-smile and his tongue firmly planted in his cheek.

Growing up it was always one of his favorite things to do. Looking down at a perfectly cooked egg and taking the edge of his bread and gently breaking the over easy yolk. Watching as it slowly covered that white diner plate with a thick coating of sunshine.

 

Smile

His teeth looked like an abandoned graveyard.

It was more of a grimace than a smile. He stood in front of the abandoned church, where he once used to attend with his family. Pain in his eyes from the years of suffering, and sleeping alone on the street.

Many times in his life he walked the streets of this “community of the future” saying his hellos and how-do-you-dos. Even though he was not the average resident, people would address him with respect, and honor.

This society trusted themselves, for the most part. It was a sobering, kind of kindness.

 

Laredo TX

Jumped down put of the cab of the semi only after thanking the dude that just gave him a lift for the last 120 miles.

He figured he could find some food there at the truckstop. Maybe even pie.

As he grabbed the handle of the door he jammed his dirty left hand into his pocket to guage if it was gonna be pie or toast for dinner.

“Shit.” looked like it wasn’t even gonna’ be toast. Thirty-six cents was all he had.

 

Squished

Exhausted from the day. Every ounce of muscle in his body felt like twisted rope ready ready to snap.

He’d been on the docks in the Long Beach port loading canned goods. He’d been hired by the two brothers he knew as Mickey and Brian. They were nice enough guys they’d been friends of his fathers growing up. And given his current situation he knew that they’d offer him a good days wage.

Like his father he was a drifter and had lived just about everywhere. He’d done everything from slinging coffee in Laredo, to harvesting blueberries in Maine.

But today by far was the toughest days work he’d done in a long time. Working the decks and physically moving thousands of pounds of product suspended from ropes high above the freighters in port.

But like any good story his luck was about to change.

 

show

“I can’t fucking beleive this shit. You fucking said our tickets were free?! And they weren’t even at will call.”

What the fuck is the proper term to use here. You see Ben had been waiting for a year to see this concert. He’s currently on the phone with his friend who just reached ultimate-douchebag status. For the mere fact that she didn’t have enough pull at her promotions job to score any more free tickets. So it really wasn’t her fault. None-the-less he wasn’t getting inside the venue.

So he did what you usually do in that situation, curse, kick stuff, act like a child, and walk away. Down to the corner to cross the street. From above a piano came hurling down from the the building and smashed to bits right in front of him. One of the pieces of ivory shot out from the explosion on the pavement and jammed into his skull, through his ear canal and he fell to the ground screaming.