60622

A rainy wander through Bucktown as I am to hand over the negs of the wedding from the camera that wasn't dropped in San Fran. Train to Clybourn – hoping – can that be right? – to see the encampment on the platform that was there the last time i detrained here.

Ignoring everything I wrote not a month ago I take a 35mm, thinking that it will be perfect for documenting the plethora of preggers pushing prams at Milk and Honey – pure fantasy on my part. Am a bit edgy as I didn’t bring anything but the 35 – I am going Luddite until January forsaking digital picture making devices. It isn’t so much raining but heavy misting but it is one of those rare moments when I am lucid and while I start with the usual fall back of looking for the formal, it ends pretty quickly as once again I head for alleys that I haven’t been down.

The snaps seem to be heading back to the essence of people not there with a little social context thrown in. The usual suspects show up in the imagery – basketball hoops, chairs, street furniture even an Atget like broom. At times I forget that it is raining and aim the camera skyward to photograph some trapped balloons – imaging the house they were at they were probably trying to escape. Wipe the lens with my shirt – forgetting that it isn’t a Holga.

Typical Chicago street theatre – best example was a couple on bikes crossing against the lights – make that ignoring them – upset when a lorry driver almost runs into them and gives them the finger. Hear them bitching as they head up Wood Street
-The man should just chill out (do people even say “chill out” anymore)?

As usual I gawk so much – this time only under the eye of a Latino worker wondering – to himself – why I am photographing in the rain – that I have to race to make the meeting.

An attempt as being social at lunch. The place lives up to my stereotype as the young and visibly knocked up come in to place their orders am pretty proud as I seem to be handling the day well until we go our separate ways and I have the choice of making a train in 15 minutes or waiting an extra 60. While I could be wandering and snapping the urge to flee Chicago takes over and I walk decidedly toward the station trying to ignore all these situations determined to slow me down.

A shorthanded meeting with an ex student at the Ashland and Cortland bus shelter.
-Hey, still living in Lincoln Park
-Yep. Still teaching at the tute?
-Yep.
-Gotta catch a train.
-Gotta wait for a bus.
-Heard from Branko.
-No but there is his website.
-Still have yours.
-Yep. You?
-Yep.