sunday party



I spent Sunday in bed skimming magazines and watching tv and only speaking (to a machine) to say I was not showing up for a party. And at 9pm it's raining out and for some reason I have one of those, why am I so lazy we are all going to die soon and I should see friends before that happens moment. And so I grab an umbrella and it's nice and I meet a lot of people, kind of like the night before, except a lot of them are in the Blue Man group. Yah, I met a Blue Man. He had hair. And then I duck out after the cake is cut for the birthday boy who is a friend of Jill's. There's a photo of him on the cake made of sugar and it says, HAPPY BIRTHDAY, FUCKER. It's sweet. As I'm leaving a girl outside the door having a smoke says, "Hey, where you going? We haven't even met yet." So I introduce myself and keep her company for a little while and then leave. A few blocks later I take this photo of Logan Blvd, a place I lived near for many years and walked many, many times:

It's Chicago, as much as any other photo you may of seen of Chicago. Except, you know, with no Michael Jordan.

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