An hour into my day, I watched a guy on methadone arguing with a heroin addict over a crate to beg from in front of the Old Navy downtown. There's a lot more after that, and I might just write a story to read next Monday at the Mystic Celt, the new place for the Twilight Tales readings. Photos on the next roll, the ones just developed are from the Dillinger shoot. I only took a few photos; spent more time talking cop with a guy whose dad, also a cop, was an extra in the BLUES BROTHERS film way back in August of 1979. The scene is underneath the Red Line, crossing Clark Street towards Addison. At times, I'll sit at that el stop, watching part of the Cubs game, seeing only a sliver of right and center field, but I don't care because the background noise helps me write in my commonplace book. That shot underneath the el has some cool stores just out of site. There's BOOKWORKS, and no more need be said. Years back, I bought a pb of Nelson Algren's NEVER COME MORNING. Past that is STRANGE CARGO, where you can buy Doc Marten boots, Starsky & Hutch t-shirts, and postcards of Abe Vigoda, bobble heads of everything iconic, packs of trading cards with stale bubble gum of HAPPY DAYS, T.J. HOOKER, PEEWEE'S PLAYHOUSE, and even SAVED BY THE BELL. And past that, sigh, is Wrigley Field and all the sports bars (not taverns, never call them taverns), and people walking the streets that I really don't give a damn about. Anyhow, here's 1932 Chicago. If Dillinger wasn't doomed here, I doubt anyone outside of Kansas City or Crown Point, Indiana would know of him. Like James Dean's grave. And the rumour of Jonny D.'s penis in formaldehyde...Wayne
