the monocle chronicle

just words today

*last night after sleuthing about the subterranean looking for nails and smart ways to display art in the space, K and I continued flyering and walking around wicker park. eventually, within each step I felt the years I spent living in that neighborhood with S creep up my ankles, through my knees, and up to the heart. a pleasant pastime was long walks to discover secret gardens, the more silent and patient human thoughtfulness to earth, and with instruments sitting in the park across from the old folks’ high-rise, where you could spot from time to time a fishing net flailing outside a window in hopes of snagging a pigeon. the area has changed quite a bit physically and visually; it appears to triumph itself as having traveled far from the time where our front door could be, and was, shrapneled from a gang hit. in its present day, the park is carved up with a chorus of fresh wrought iron fences, more people hunch through the alleys and spill out onto the sidewalks after having had a, somewhat, fancy meal; intoxicated, talking on their phones together— but curiously, the air felt the same. its arms still hold that familiar tangling smell of plastic and food and the summer highway and flowers. sunflowers still grow from cracked cement and construction sites. stepping away from the lively urges of scene crawlers and tattoos welcomed a simple enjoyment of a lovely, moon filled evening.*