This city is maddening. It's a trove of pleasure. It's my city. 

I'm parked along Michigan Ave., the other day. I'm watching a drove of tourists march down the street, stopping to see the sidewalk entertainers and peer their eyes through the shop windows. I watch them drink their lattes and carry leftovers from the little sidewalk cafes they stopped to eat at. I'm listening to my ipod and it's as if their footsteps beat to the sound of my music. I want to tell them to move here. I want to stop each one, with their amazed looks, their picture taking, and tell them my stories, my little love notes written out all over the city.

It's not the lake, it's not the architecture, it's not the endless amounts of things to do that I love, it's the grime, it's the grittiness that I desire. It's the scenes of the homeless and the noise their cups make when they jingle the coins around and around. I love this city. It's the endless amounts of debris that line the pavement one day, and then disappear the next. I love this city. It's the sound of the "L, the honking of the cabs and the constant screaming of various sirens. I love this city. It's the failure to connect with anyone, but needing to connect with someone. I love this city. It's the reckless ways that people come together and fall apart. I love this city. 

Yesterday, I'm driving down Chicago Ave. and pull up to a stop sign, take a brief pause while a biker darts out in front of my car. Simultaneously we move in a steady motion towards each other, seconds away from a collision. We look at each other and our eyes lock, I yell something like, "what the fuck are you doing dude?", he yells something back about me being a "fucking bitch" and just like that we are on our separate ways. That's how it is, the rawness of the city, the truth of it all. I love it.