This was the first return to Chicago in many years where I noticed how pocked and dirty the city was. This ebb of season is a full tilt scum flare, all the trash no longer hidden by the snow, everything brown and still, dead. Granted, most any city looks like it's patina'd in shit after a couple days homebasing in Seattle up the street from the Ferrari dealership on Capital Hill. It's been nigh 12-13 years since I half lived here and my map is skewed since the only that is still the same is the street names and a check cashing place I occasioned. I don't feel much about it one way or the other, since it's not mine to complain about (amongst this this burden of clean lines and polished gleem, I had some lovely dinners). A native said at a post-panel parle: People complain about gentrification, and new buildings going up, and it's like "Really? Do you want the gas station back? Were you that attached?". I don't want the gas station back. I don't want what was there before that, which was a warehouse I went with I-forget-whom so they could get hash from a triballed-out Burning Man old-girl, sometime early in 1995. I did for a moment want one of the big-child sized pit crew suits that Joan pointed out as we passed the aforementioned dealership. That shit woulda been knickers, even on my teeny frame, but how dazzling would a ill-fitting Ferrari kiddy suit be, just on round the town casual?
Posted by Jessica at April 13, 2008 07:03 PM | TrackBack