|How can you not love this city?|
Stepping onto Michigan Avenue, the city grabbed Tom as no other place could. All his senses came alive from Chicago’s firm embrace. He merged in with the steady flow of commuters marching toward the Loop, industrious soldiers moving forward to turn the wheels of commerce. All the aftershaves, perfumes, lotions and body scents fused into a grand aroma of the working masses. Thousands of feet stepped in time with honking horns and rumbling buses, this powerful workforce shaking the very sidewalks in perfect rhythm with Tom’s heartbeat. Skateboarders bounced over the crosswalks, grinding off the railings and bus-stop benches, effortlessly weaving through the structured chaos of the morning commute. Tom was back in his city, and for the first time in too long, he felt alive. One skateboarder swept by Tom’s side before looping around the newsstand.
“That kid’s going to be famous someday,” Tom thought. That’s what Chicago did for people.
Chicago’s heavy air assaulted his senses, confronting him the moment he stepped onto Michigan Avenue. Commuters marched toward the Loop, mindless cattle walking toward the economic slaughterhouse that cut away their souls one paycheck at a time. The air reeked of the chaotic riot of perfumes and colognes trying to mask the nauseating stench of condemnation. Everyone droned forward, thousands of people each in their own little bubble of self-concern, crossing streets against the light as if traffic owed them special consideration. So many people, so little consideration even for the souls bumping shoulders with them. The morning skateboarders sliced and cut in front of every commuter possible, more concerned about the railings and bus-stop benches than people. A skateboarder lost his balance, his board landing at Tom’s feet. He watched at the twenty-something guy with blond dreadlocks get up from the sidewalk.
The guy laughed. “Sorry about that.”
“You’re sorry?” Tom picked up the guy’s board, looked back at him, then flung the skateboard into Michigan Avenue traffic. “Now you’re sorry.”