Sunday, January 22, 2012
farmhouses pass by. The rhythm of the rails rocks me back to sleep.
We eat breakfast in the diner. Brittany orders a veggie omelet and I
get biscuits and gravy.
A broken rail leaves us idol in the middle of Iowa. We arrive in
Chicago, hours late. We gather up our things and head out into the
That evening we eat Chicago style pizza; my body goes into a cheese coma.
In her black dress, Brittany is beautiful. I try to compliment her
attire, by wearing a black tie and dress pants, but she still looks
way better then me.
We take a cab to the Hancock Tower; the elevator ride up pops my ears.
From the 94th floor, the city looks like a brilliantly lit scale
model. The signature lounge is a classy place. The people up there,
look they are going places. And to be able to afford anything on the
menu, I suppose they must be doing something productive with their
In the morning, we set out for Millennium Park. We
walk up and down the streets of downtown with no agenda. At the
Chicago Tribune, we “make friends,” we get hot drinks and receive very
vital information: buy the CTA Fun Day Pass. For five dollars you can
ride the bus and the metro for 24 uninterrupted hours. That is value,
considering that a one-way cab ride from our hotel to the Hancock
Tower cost six dollars.
With our new Fun Day Pass, we board bus 151 to Lincoln Park; where
Brittany accomplishes one of her greatest Chicago ambitions, she eats
a Chicago hotdog.
Before heading to the Green Mill, we do some shopping at H&M and Zara.
The Green Mill is crowed we are forced to stand. The poetry slam is
worthy of noting and most certainly repeatable. It was intense and the
poems were genuine. But regardless of how authentic or honest a poem
might be, the commentator and/or the audience was ruthless in
demonstrating any disfavor. If the audience didn’t like a poem, they
would snap their fingers until the author would stop reading. At
first, I thought that meant they liked it, but I soon learned that it
was the exact opposite. The commentator was equally transparent. He
would poke jokes at the author’s expense.
We eat at a restaurant called Pop; I think that is what it was called?
There is a live string quartet playing. The environment is
sophisticated and elegant. The water is served in a chilled bottle. It
feels like we just entered a world that we don’t know any thing about.
The following day, we visited that Museum of Science and Industry,
under the impress that it was free, but in reality it is only free for
Illinois residences. We pleaded our case to the manger; he took
sympathy on us, and granted us free admission.
Rushed, we made our way back to Union Station, the train left at
exactly 2:00pm, if we had wasted only ten more minutes at the museum
we would have been stuck in Chicago.