Friday, September 28, 2007

I woke up late this morning and showered quickly. I can move through my morning process with dispatch when I put myself in such a pinch. I finish the tasks in stages—cleaning and drying the body; pulling clothes onto limbs in their customary order; creating, with the help of some sticky blue product, a follicular masterpiece at my summit—and head downstairs and out into the crisp air. Smack.

The days have grown shorter at both ends and the morning light is dim, casting soft grays onto every surface. I walk east toward the train station as the sun splits from the lake and burns the coastal building sides gold. The remnants of glare play havoc with my rods and cones—black dots dance on everything. I can barely see the kid trying to hand me the free newspaper I turn down. Turnstyle. Steps. Platform.

I stare out at the crumbling tenements as the L clatters through an S curve in River West. A bare-limbed evergreen from Christmas past leans in an unboarded window, three, four ornaments glimmering, their hooks clinging to the limbs' parched nodules. I can feel the space of the air between me and that place—it is wide and empty and cold. The train car jerks left as we roll into Chicago & Franklin.

Friday, September 21, 2007

Some people on the internet may well have the mistaken impression that I'm a productive person.