Sitting in some place unexpectedly stuck downtown in the center of Chicago. A building wrapped around me that might be double my age being run by kids that might be a third of the same. Strange math to my usually timeless sentiments displaced. It all seems like the day before? A solitary buoy floating about in anonymous waters sporting Plexiglass panels of glowing reds and projector pattern greens promoting the consolation of a sixties bygone light show. The space that contains this quaint place, no doubt, having history. The beer on the bar, despite the pedigree of it’s label, has no nationality of its own to recommend its unsure taste. That inconsolable recollection of drubbing stout betwixt three Yorkshiremen from Leeds steadying this current brew. Their claims of life on behalf of the authority of grand old England turning the current domestic tarnish of the American Dream to a strictly British affair. A puzzle currently a matter of technique by piecing bits an utterance together at one time. Everything has its rightful corner of the universe.
Strange cargo for a misfit like me. This current emptiness can go along handily with relaxation. That wonder of life being an ever ebbing flow of bullshit that so many others pare up with one and another. Sad little constant discoveries through smart phones and their not so smart users. Frenetic youthful conversations conducted within unnecessarily lowered tones for what or for why one can only imagine? Glass covered Alphonse Mucha’s rule the dark from the vantage points of wall. Funny squawk tank voices of working twins. You sort out the difference between a balding Pitbull and a lowly Doberman. The eighties re-interpreted in a rehash of the tired bygone hits mouthed electronically by racy little ingenues copping off market Robert Palmer. “OMG”, being the the most trivial of repetitive gifts to mankind by this current generation seems over wiling. Why hate foreigners as they are caught mired in the same bullshit? The Isley’s tousle the manes of young women conducting their romantic affairs within the darkened corners of this paradise. I cannot imagine my underage father working in this South Loop neighborhood nearby tending bar back some seventy-five years previous?