A City Story: Parts of One

The lights of the El illuminated the grime of the street below. On one side, the blue glow of a neon diamond blasted the nights with flickers. On the other, flocks of pigeons cooed around piles of shit and wasted rust. Occasionally, the din of a rushing car blasting between the dirt-encrusted, and piss-stained I-beams scared them skyward, but they always returned to their tedious forays. We stood beneath the neon diamond.

Nights in Chicago are desolate. The shadows of crumbled buildings loom under the black monolith of downtown. At their bases, the souls of high-town past flit around the occasional dreaming bum. People walk closely, clutching their clothes together, regardless of heat or cold. It's always windy, and the wind blows the ghosts of people swallowed by the dreariness of night Chicago. Occasionally, a saxophone wail pierces the air and carries the dreaming bums off to nights of lust, money, and gallons of the finest Mad Dog, but usually, the only music is the cacophony of rumbling Ls.

To us, though, the night was heaven. We were city kids, removed and lost, but later replaced and found. We were two Mohammedan angels, off the farm and casting wanting eyes upward at the tenet dwellings off the far distance north, where the homosexuals pranced near the Puerto Ricans, and the artists wandered from yuppie bar to fashionable bar, talking closely about the complex colours of the street rocks. The wind from the south carried a glistening scent of M.S.G, mixed with bowling alleys, corner bars, and the frenzied sigh of hundreds of factory workers exhuming their daily grind to the crumbling iron wretches that dot the southern boundaries of Chicago. The blustering north and blue-collar south combined in the loop to create a frantic hurricane of lights, people, music, living, and the bop-wop of intricate old-new and us two, standing on the corner of Washington and Wabash, looking desperately for something that smacked of peace.

A man passed us by. He was thin and bearded, and he walked as if someone would thrash him if he stopped. R. followed his walk, then laughed. "Where are you going, man?"

"A better question would be, from where did I come," and with that, he faded up the steps that led to the junction of Orange, Purple, Green, and Brown. Across the street, stick people merged into a frenzied fetish of skeletons. I scoped them and elbowed R. "I hope they don't fall into the subway slots."

R. stroked his black chin curls and shrugged. "I don't think there would be any great loss."

"I'm sure somewhere, somehow, the lord of Skinnies would look at his creations and notice one missing."

"What would he do?"

"Probably raid a Jenny Craig store and kidnap one of the fatties. We'd read about it in the newspaper. Can't you picture the headlines? Fat Fucks Found Forced to Fast. It would be a catastrophe. Fast food restaurants would pledge their aid. The fat fuck'd probably get a book deal out of it."

"Man, don't talk about food. You're making me hungry."
"There's a Wendy's next door. Why don't we get something to eat."
"Sounds good. You gonna pay?"
"With what fucking money."
"I thought you Jews were loaded."
"We were, until you asked us for our fucking forty acres and a mule."
"Yeah, and look where it landed me."
"In the middle of the holy land, with a wild-eyed Jew for support?"
"Right."

One of the skinnies, while we were waving our hands around and singing our song, decided to cross the street. I guess he thought we were some kind of show, probably half black-face, because he threw some money at us. It glinted in the air and clattered at my feet. R. and I stared dumbly at it. The skinny grinned, then promptly fell into a subway grate. A low moan crashed in the distance. Somewhere in California, a fat fuck disappeared. I picked up the money. R. grinned and shooed me into the Wendy’s.

The Wendys was a bright place. The floors were somewhat clean. I did not notice any excess shit or food in the gaping tile holes. A bored security guard looked at me and decided that the best use of his time was to explore his nasal cavity for hidden emeralds. I grinned at the security guard. He looked shock, then doubled over. I left him thrashing in the corner and headed to the burger counter. The lady there stared vacantly at the wall. I turned around to see what she was looking at, and noticed advertising for various foods. The colours were particularly pleasing and suddenly I felt as if I could look at it all day.

I'm not sure how long it was, but the guard's thrashing upset a chair and snapped me to attention. The girl, however, was much too far gone. I decided to take advantage of this and look up her skirt. This didn't require too much flexibility on my part. The skirt was already hiked up, and it was quite short. My peek revealed a maw festooned with many happy faces. There's something quite odd about happy faces between a girl's legs, but later ponderings revealed that this actually makes sense.

The happy faces left me, and I, too, left with burgers in hand. R. was waiting where I left him. A Lucky Strike dangled from his lips. I shouted out and he looked at me, pulled the Lucky and exhaled. A slow smoke dance slithered from his lips to a passing train. "What's this man?"
"Burgers."
"What took you?"
"I was in my happy place."
"Aren't we all?"