In the scheme of things, we found ourselves lost in the city, hungry for excitement and more over drunk on a sun that would never set in the wake of our endless Chicago summer. It’s was in our youth that we laid in the tall city grass, lost in an uncut pocket, overlooked by the wicked regulations that doomed our forsaken secret garden in an unused part of West town.
The sweet summer air glides through the river of rail that cuts through the buildings and gently caresses my cheek with such care that I’m certain that I am her most loved. The scent of foliage, ripe with life and peppered with the soiled city stench, collapses me into a overall state of internal confusion that sedates and pleasures. We live and love like we we’re destined to exist like this for a lifetime and when the leaves turn brown and the air cools I awaken from my state, hung over and without any recollection of how I’d gotten here, standing on the precipice of eternal life but afraid look down.