At one a.m. I got into the cab on the desolate and chilly northwest street of Milwuakee Avenue. Hailing a cab took some time, as the street was dead on this Wednesday night, although the bike riders were out at large.
For some reason I had to go home, the pounding of the Drum n' Bass a little too much, the fourth Amstel and chicken tamale a terrible idea, wanting only the cush of my bed and the purr of the cats. I got into the cab and I smelled it, the same smell from two autumns ago. The staleness of cigarette smoke from the bar carried with me into the plastic backed cab, the windows open, the crisp air came in - a woosh of fragrant leaves starting to turn as soon as he jetted sharply onto Division. For a brief moment I was taken back in time, when I would wear my plaid scarf and black boots, head resting against the window thinking about my future.
For some reason I had to go home, the pounding of the Drum n' Bass a little too much, the fourth Amstel and chicken tamale a terrible idea, wanting only the cush of my bed and the purr of the cats. I got into the cab and I smelled it, the same smell from two autumns ago. The staleness of cigarette smoke from the bar carried with me into the plastic backed cab, the windows open, the crisp air came in - a woosh of fragrant leaves starting to turn as soon as he jetted sharply onto Division. For a brief moment I was taken back in time, when I would wear my plaid scarf and black boots, head resting against the window thinking about my future.
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