It’s Saturday morning and I’m on the train headed up north on my way to get my hair cut for $16 at the Aveda teaching institute, the first haircut I’ve ever gotten in the state of Illinois though I’ve lived in Chicago for almost three years. I’m very excited for my fancy, inexpensive haircut. The sun is shining and it’s much warmer than I thought it was going to be. I’m in a seat by myself, facing the correct way (with traffic), and I’m on the brown line, which weaves through downtown Chicago at a third-story level, giving me delicious peeks into the windows of all those beautiful historic buildings. I look up at the Wrigley building as we cross the river and think to myself “I never want to leave Chicago!”
It’s midday Saturday and I’m on a bus heading towards the west side. I’m trapped between the window and a truly enormous and very pungent man who is either homeless or just carrying an array of useless items and plastic-wrapped packages with him on the CTA. My hair is too short and full of some kind of pomade that is supposed to give it body but actually just makes it feel sticky and straw-like. I have to go to the bathroom and I feel a little bit bus sick. The man next to me unwraps a foil package and starts to eat something that smells positively vile. The sun is gone and the sky looks like rain. Lucky me, I have left my umbrella at home. I look up at the sky and out at the relative desolation of west loop and I think to myself “Fuck Chicago.”
