The heavens opened up on Chicago yesterday during the afternoon rush hour. I was sure it was Jesus crying for Tom DeLay who had to step down as Majority Leader.
Regardless, the downpour made for a less-than-fun trip home.
First I swam around looking for a phantom UPS drop box on Jefferson Street. Then I had a total blast waiting for a bus that was way, way, WAY beyond fashionably late.
While standing at Halsted and Lake, I sized up my fellow soggy CTA compatriots. We’re all in this together, I thought. Even the folks in cars, stuck in traffic. Were they any better off? Dry, sure, but they weren’t going anywhere either.
Maybe it's not me against the world afterall. (cue the Mary Tyler Moore show theme song)
I’ve lived in Chicago for the last nine years, and it’s been quite a relationship for sure. There are days when this town can throw so much shit your way you have to be the craziest of crazy to stay. Then out of nowhere you can have a moment where you’re reminded that there absolutely cannot be another place on this planet where you feel at home quite as much as here.
And usually the moment comes when you’re soggy, crabby, hungry, standing at the corner of Halsted and Lake, hoping you get home in time for “Lost.”