stagnanTVowels

fig.45.22) Myster, his name is held to the page by a great weight The writer arrived in September,1846, having “decided to take (her) chances for life and fortune here.” South of Fort Dearborn, located at the river and what is today Michigan Avenue, everything was “an everlasting stretch of prairie and little sand-hills along the lake-shore. At the corner of Clark and Washington Streets stood the Methodist and Second Presbyterian Churches. Everything east of Clark Street and south of Madison Street was “open prairie [and] … large numbers of family cows.” A “country tavern,” the Southern Hotel, stood at the corner of State Street and Twelfth Street, near “Widow Clark’s fine residence … near Eighteenth street, near Michigan avenue.” Five bucks a week was the rate for “good board, furnished room, fuel, and lights, for gentleman and wife.” The monthly rent for a “good office” was four dollars. The rent of a “nice house, modern appointments” was $125.00 to $175.00 a year, paid in qu

fig.567.87) Outside the snack shack at midday. Baby sits like a song, he's singing from the back seat now. Tiny hands sitting in their lap. There's a short bucket of pee by the lottery machine when we pull in just before the sunset. The red shack sits beside the bay bridge near the high water mark. Liked by, even though here we are to be, liked by this sausage and it's many companions too. Worn and neat below the wind of the shore. Shells on the warm dry sand. Shells in the sun waiting to be worn like pearls. Inside it smells like gasoline and peanut butter. It smells like mayonnaise and sex down here. I'm a part-time bear with a full-time needs and a real axe to grind. I'm just sitting here on the ice waiting for the weather to turn around again. I have this sack full of peanuts and some dried out fish to help move things around. I have a couple of steel cans full of cold beer. The car that I was driving has run out gas, that's how I got into this mess.

fig.32.34) Cheers again, ahoy! You should know that you're not just some big set of shoulders, not to us. No, you're not like any other hog butcher for the world either. To us, you are a totality, a summation and the place that's best for us to grow from. You might look like you're a wild haired person without any pants, a kinky leptor with a huge spooning guitar. But hey Chicago, we're really into you every year, year after year! You've never let us down and we want you to know that we've got your back. We're here for you through thick and thin because it's you that floats our boat. You're the tick to our tock and we're fond of seeing ourselves as the mouse that's on your clock. You're a wonder to behold, like a Miesian box, a calendar that's empty or an orange sitting alone in a bowl. You're crucial, you're still something but you're also growing a little old. There's more wilt inside of the vase that's