Wrigleyville Starbucks
#13
Welcome to Bittersweet Pl. 🏚️
The sun resurfaced in Chicago today. After two weeks of eternal dusk, it’s finally morning again, so I spent 7-8A sunning on the sofa like a big cat, wondering what I might do with all this natural light.
You can tell when the haze is getting to you. You start to associate yourself with characters on TV or in amateur art that pops up on Instagram. For example, I saw a painting of a Chicago house party this morning that made me well up. It was a simple street view of the event, with faceless characters in each window. Staring at it, I had the sincere thought:
“I was there. I’ve been there one thousand times.”
Maybe this is how grandpa feels at the war memorial. Regardless, it was a delusional experience to have on a Wednesday so I opened Microsoft Outlook to keep myself from buying a print.
Today, I want to share something I wrote a little ways back. It’s a small passage (poem?) from my first stay in Chicago, when I was always dotting around, seeking small moments of profundity from my big, new life.
Often, I’d just sit somewhere and take notes on what I saw happening around me. So many notes on birds in those Moleskins. But this little passage is about people drinking Frappuccinos in the wintertime.
Wrigleyville Starbucks — 12.17.17
Eight teenagers are seated 17 feet from me.
I think the redhead likes the blonde, which begs the question: Who likes the redhead (and feels cursed)?
Once the group graduates, the thinner of their friendships will fade. Still, they’ll get together every December 23rd to compare lives.
This will stop when the redhead and blonde have their first child.
So, our mystery admirer will have a drink.
“Of course I’m happy for them…..Did you notice Ryan’s hair is turning brown?”
Legendary Post of the Week:
If you don’t love Olivia Colman, GTFOH:
