Apr. 13th, 2013

muckefuck: (zhongkui)
Tonight I did something I haven't done in too long: I took an ambling stroll through the heart of a beautiful city. Nuphy and I met up with Blondie at Daley Plaza and went to dinner at Trattoria no. 10, which was a better place than I thought we'd be dining given our lack of reservations. (After a couple of initial hiccoughs, service was fleet and competent, making this a good place to keep in mind for future pre-opera dining.) Nuphy had two tickets to the Rising Young Stars concert at the Lyric and I insisted the two of them go; I'd be available afterwards if Blondie wanted to go out before trotting back to his hotel at O'Hare.

At first I thought I might go to the home of Big Bones and Miss Cleveland to kill the couple of hours, but I had the bad luck to pick a night when they were out. While waiting to hear from them, I just began walking south. Having recently discussed the Ghostbusters Building with some out-of-towners, I had a notion of poking my head in, but I doubted it would be open. So I turned when I hit Van Buren and just continued to the lakefront, where I turned north. Eventually, I reached the end of the esplanade and cut back through Millennium Park, ultimately ending up right where I'd started.

It was a chilly night, but downtown was bustling; Grant Park, not so much--apart from the Bean, of course. It was dusk, and I kept turning back to watch the lights take over the skyline. A thin crescent of a moon hung in the west. Unfortunately, I'd dressed for the contingency that Blondie might refuse the ticket, so I was wearing my least comfortable pair of shoes. As I waited for the Clark bus north (so I could fit in a stop at Bookworks in Wrigleyville), I texted Nuphy to let them know I was headed home. Turns out Blondie was, too, having bailed at intermission.

Wrigleyville was alive with young partiers--where do they all come from? Surely they can't afford that neighbourhood any more. This times there was no clutch of UofCers at the bookstore so I had it practically to myself. After picking up only four books--including a volume of collected short stories large enough to stun a man--I decided I'd done enough damage and left. The bus took a long time in coming, but whereas normally the steady stream of loud drunken adolescents would be a source of annoyance, I was able to take it all in and detachedly breathe it back out. It's a practice I could stand more of.
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