The train platform warning strip shines blue and yellow in the late afternoon sun, its nubs just tall enough to cast shadows. I hop the Red Line at Granville, south past Wrigley Field, where I am joined by hundreds of beery and perpetually disappointed Cubs fans to the Loop. I change trains to the Green, and…balls! Someone must have shaken the dubstep tree because suddenly the car is overrun with preppie day-glo, pink Wayfarers and the smell of Noxzema combined with drug sweat. North Coast Music Fest kids, all hipstered-out and working
… either that or one of these walking jelly beans is smuggling a horny skunk into the show.
themselves into a pre-show tizzy en route to Union Park, admitting openly the Ashland stop is the farthest west on the Green Line they care to venture. Someone has a sack of sticky-icky which reeks in their pocket; either that or one of these walking jelly beans is smuggling a horny skunk into the show.
Which would not surprise me.