Wednesday, September 21, 2005

come and show me another city

i could fly to paris on october eighteenth. one way on british airlines. i have a window seat. i could rent an apartment with a tiny refrigerator and grated french doors that lead to nowhere. in a city that radiates out, starlike.

i walked to the arab on the corner and bought vodka and pear juice and bottled water and nectarines and camembert and took the rec out of issey to walk around and bum cigarettes after all the tabacs were closed. all around the conversations were beautiful if only because i couldn't understand them. romanticized inanity.

if i could fly i would i'd fly away from here.

i once fled. i put on my hoodie and i emptied out my backpack tearing out scraps of paper and empty water bottles and shook it until the torrents of pens and pencils and melted chapsticks and quarters gave way to drizzles of celophane wrappers and bits of foil and tobacco.

i stopped at decrepit filling stations that made my feet dusty and i bought out of state lottery tickets.

are we there yet are we there yet are we there yet are we there yet

someone asked me what i was looking for but i wasn't looking for anything.

chicago is built on a grid, a net, a seive.

i came home with a different kind of dirt on my feet. smooth instead of gritty. brown instead of black. sepia. it washed off easily.

i love you chicago, city of big shoulders. i can never completey cleanse msyelf of you.
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