Right. I had a mission: criss-cross the hard-edged city to bring a couple of posters to a club where our band will perform next week. A necessary trip. DIY essential. An errand boy delivering a message in a bottle, or, you know, a message to be displayed on a wall. An act of futility or hope? Leaning to hope, but who knows?
Not a difficult trip. A train to a train, and then a healthy walk thru rumpled Chicago neighborhoods. Vibrant life swirling around me. Sunny day. Brisk wind. People hustling thru the streets. Everyone going somewhere.
By day the streets look a bit shabbier, signs of decay, dissolution and corruption. Empty store-fronts, bombed-out parking lots, old, sagging, scruffy, buildings, demolition projects. Dirt and trash swirling. A continuous process of rehabilitation and decay.
And then, surprising islands of bright, new, shiny renewal & possibility. Glad-handing life sprouting up in unlikely places. Happy pedestrians, well-scrubbed families, moms pushing strollers, kids playing ball in the park, well-tended gardens and homes.
The music mecca I approached in the cold light looked less shiny, a bit harder, more grimy than under the twinkling lights & stark black of night. A burly barman, a couple hard-drinkers bellied to the long shiny wooden bar. Classic Chicago vibe.
I delivered my posters and then headed back, same trip except in reverse. Mission accomplished. A small, no, a tiny gesture. To what end? Who knows? Maybe someone, or a couple someones, see that poster hanging on a wall and decide to come to check out the band and music? Or, you know, maybe not.
I got home, a bit weary. "These boots are made for walking." Yes, indeed. Fully analog.
