I took a recent trip to Chicago this past November of 2024.

It was unseasonably warm, and I must have brought some North Carolina’s weather along for the ride. The plane ride isn’t that long but we were in holding pattern over Lake Michigan. lots of traffic going into this airport it seemed. finally, plane landed. I’m strolling through O’Hare like I own the place, just from pure memory. when I was a young pup my dad used to take me here some Saturday mornings, and back then there wasn’t so much security. You could just stride ride in all the way to the gate without a ticket. My dad being a mechanical engineer loved just watching the planes take off. Me? I was quite mesmerized by the groups of gorgeous women in cute uniforms who looked like models. why are my eyes so delighted to stupidly stare at these objects of wonder and beauty? I wanted to be nice to them and kiss them all over their faces, I’d thought. oh look, I still do huhuhuhuhuh.

I’m suddenly on the blue line tearing through the city and on my way to River North where my hotel’s at. I pass by two stops I used to get off on to get home: Irving Park, or Logan Square. Nostalgia crept in. I’ve been away for over 4.5 years now, and this is my 3rd visit over the course. While still here I’d always dreamed of not being, of leaving eventually. Where could I possibly go? Eventually I headed to North Carolina where my fam relocated nearly a decade ago and were dropping subtle hints to follow suit. what’s in North Carolina? No midwesterner really knew unless they somehow did. in my case all I knew and suspected was that it was red neck rehab down there. or Nickolas Spark’s novels where unusually single + attractive white people hooked up and had themselves a Hallmark romance channel love affair. That’s far from the case, and the people weren’t nearly as kind hearted or well mannered as they all pretended. that’s fine, made them easier to ignore really. fake nice is how I’d rightly describe them, in reality mostly rude and unusually insecure.

I stayed at the Moxy, near Grand & La’Salle. Just two blocks from 50’s Mc’Donalds (which they totally ruined). I took a stroll throughout the city, down Magnificent mile and the Bean. Went to the Art Institute, ate chilli at Potbellies, had pizza from Uno’s + Pequods. Tourist in my own home town. it might be a very small bento box of a indoor city, but it was thankfully busy. I thought what if I ran into somebody I knew, however improbable. this was the most likely town to do that in. I used to run into people I went to grade school with, highschool, undergrad, or just the clubbing scene back in the day. nothings changed much, except it was far quieter and that was strange for me now. especially coming from a place of homebodies who never ventured outdoors much hardly at all (weird). in Chicago you’re forced into hibernation due to the weather sucking. NC what was their excuse even? Maybe too hot, dunno.

In a span of 3 days I didn’t get to do all the things I wished that I could. I just remembered my old place: a loft in former baker shop. I had good pizza and steak at my favorite restaurant: Tango Sur, an Argentinian steakhouse. I vividly recollected all the places I once lived in, each with a long history of time spent in each. each feeling like a personal journal I’d lovingly kept. would that anybody actually read shit I’d written about anything. we’re living in times where the more you spoke, the less you were heard. especially in this nerd herd world. where everybody was trying to be someone they weren’t, trying to get loved by people who were self absorbed. most of these individuals I saw acted like they were substance abusers actually. they sported that crack addict look some super models from the late 90’s thought was cool. I don’t even write to impress anybody, to inform them, persuade, annoy, encourage, or rattle them. what did it matter when indifference was the norm.

I forced myself down the street I grew up on: Dover Street, in Sheridan park. It hadn’t changed much, this historical district. my family house was there, the garden my mother lovingly made all but destroyed by the new owners, Californians (ewwwwwwwwwwww). I look up into my old bedroom, and the long winters spent inside watching retro tv programs, reading so many books, writing volumes of journals over the years. each journal became more filled, artistic, creative than the other. all of these scenes I wanted to step in and relive again and again. for no reason than to feel what that feels like all over once more. its like when Captain Kirk steps aboard the U.S.S Enterprise after a long separation. Or when Pip returned to Satis house at the end of Great Expectations, a new man made. Whereas the fires of experience and adventure shaped him into a new being entirely. Was I any different now? Yes, I was. I was an artist + poet, and now a North Carolinian. I didn’t date my own cousins or drink moonshine lolz but I was one now. one who could actually drive and didn’t require redneck rehab anytime soon. neither did I own a gunshop worth of firearms either.

I’m done with my 3 days, and I was leaving like I came: blue line into O’Hare, and back to the tarheel state. I’ll be writing about Chicago real soon, there’s just so much material. somebody might benefit from it, who knows. All I can do is try.