Category: The Right Kind of Eyes

It is the Sunday morning before Labor Day at about a quarter past nine, and each soul is waiting for its train. I am standing on the Red Line platform under State Street in the Chicago Loop, the station below the alley down which you can see the Goodman Theater marquee if you look with the right kind of eyes.

Shaking The Dubstep Tree

Point of no return on the CTA platform.

Point of no return on the CTA platform.

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.

One bit.