Thursday, July 08, 2004
what I thought was love was just a game
- This morning walking to work, next to a trash can on the end of the block where my office is, the corner of Farragut and Clark, there is a trash can. Next to this trash can on this particular morning, was a cat, laying on its side, dead. I saw it from the back, and thought "why is that cat not moving?", then turned to see its face as I walked by and it was bloody and obviously run over by a car whose driver didn't care enough to call animal control to pick up the body. It was there all day. I hate people.
- Every day when I walk home, I cut through the park accross the street. There are sidewalks criss crossing, making a big X in the park, and along this X there are about 8 or so benches. On the one closest to Chicago and Lake, where I enter the park, there is usually a man in his late 60s, listening to music on his mp3 player, headphones sticking out of a red backpack which is always with him. He has been there every day, and I come to watch for him as I round the bend around the church to get to the park. I always wondered if he ever noticed the college-aged girl carrying a canvas purse listening to her less technology-advanced cd player (as opposed to his mp3 player) and used that sight, somehow, to mark how much time he will stay on his bench. "There she goes, I have ten minutes before I leave." Lately, though, he hasn't been there. I haven't seen him in about a week, I've surely noticed. I wonder if something happened to him, if he got sick or moved away or something. I feel some sort of strange connection with this man, as much as I can without ever having talked to him, not even eye contact.
6:15 PM
0 comments
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
|
|
