revolve

whiskey slurpees on downtown corners. drinking on porches with nothing much to say. parks and picnic tables, alleys and dumpsters and playgrounds, playing tag and collapsing on plastic slides to lie staring up at what few stars break through this chicago smog, throwing out thoughts about bats and skies and being kids, about politics and protests and travels and places. parties, all bikes and 40s and punk bands playing, linked arms and sideways grins. sidewalks brimming with cigarettes and dogs and drunk come-ons, wobbly rides home.

people who get excited about the things i get excited about, who play games and laugh at the stars. scruffy souls. i like 'em.