ON SUPERHEROISM
Knee-high boots seem to be the standard. I wonder why we don't see more superheroes opting instead for cross-trainers.

I AM A BLOGGER, BLOGGING
There they are again: young father and child, bundled up, sleeping in the back of the bus on their way to Sheridan, where they will awaken, disembark, transfer, continue, gain momentum, self-caffeinate, perhaps. The old man in the brown coat sits nearby, crosses himself as the bus roars past Graceland Cemetery, crosses himself again on the way out, his forefinger deliberate, pointing upward at the Father, inward at the twist of Son and Holy Ghost, the glass of his glasses a tangle of reflected neon as we roll past Seminary.

I don't want to leave here. Not this stop, anyway.

OVERBOARD
My shampoo bottle says "for dull, lifeless hair."

I wouldn't go that far.

BYE BYE, BROWN LINE
Today is the first day of the rest of my life—a life that requires a different kind of commute than the one I previously enjoyed. Instead of a four-block walk to the Irving Park Brown, I now have a two-block walk to the Irving Park 80, followed by a transfer to the Red Line at Sheridan, which will deliver me to Grand, which station is a mere two blocks from pay dirt.

And in the evenings, I shall take the same route, only backward.

To my pleasant surprise, the new way actually got me to work faster than the previous one.