More photos here.
Glory be to the city of Chicago and its fall breezes, loud trains, and Bears fans with 12 packs under each arm riding bikes with jerseys on. To the Cobra Lounge and its stiff bourbons, metal music, and private bathrooms. To that view above the el tracks on the bridge seeing the moonlight skip off the rails leading back into the skyline of the city (what kind of photographer doesn't have a camera at times like this?!). To the goddamn wide, bike-friendly streets of the north side I envy, and the articulate-seeming and rational spare changers. To 'The Fridge' doorman who accepted our bribes and allowed us into the Big Business/Melvins show, and to the smiling cabby who brought me home after first stopping for salty crunchy snacks at 7-Eleven. To The Goodman and its meta-theatre, Topolobampo for its perfect feast, to the dead folks at Graceland Cemetery who shouted, "Go Livers!" as we walked past on our way to get tattoos. To Halo 3 and its ability to deepen friendships through the violent act of hunting and rocketing one another into sweet oblivion. And to Felix and Lena, the two crossing words, whose nebulous clues thwarted our near-perfect finish of in-flight gaming on our way back to Baltimore.
