Back to Bubbly Creek tomorrow. Read my novella "Lover Doll" at the new place, MYSTIC CELT, after Mort Castle fund himself double-booked. Larry Santoro and his wife Tycelia were there, Larry reading a portion of his novel-in-progress, and one of his friends, a guy named Jim was there, someone I had met in times past. Larry and I have been reading together at TwilightTales almost as often as Martin & Lewis sang on bigger stages with a drunker audience. As one can see from the first photo, there are about seventy train lines that converge in the Loop. The Celt is right off the Southport Brown Line stop and I took that ton the Red Line stop at Belmont. Surprisingly, there were 325 (I learned later) high school kids from Dallas from a church group. If their shirts had been darker blue, you'd think there'd been a Cubs game as the train pulled in. I pitched in to help give directions when a drunken guy who asked three times "So, what's on the agenda?", which kept reminding me of Dan Rather getting mugged by two guys asking "What's the frequency, Kenneth?" I pointed the way to Moody Bible Institute from the Chicago/Franklin stop because, well, I just know where stuff is. I stay on the Red Line long after the rest of us Caucasians flee at Roosevelt. Deep in my anthology, CHICAGO NOIR, a woman next to me asked where I was getting off, perhaps concerned I was on the wrong train. I told her 87th and then we talked the rest of the ride, my eyes were tired from the TT reading and I didn't mind. Some guy got on at 35th Street, opposite Sox Park, in a gold shirt and what looked like baggy conductor pants, grabbed his crotch and sang high notes. The woman, Janet, told me about her job at Cub Foods. 87th came faster than expected, and the bus came even faster. I bought some Melatonin at the CVS (to help keep the dream demons away, so far its been effective), that's where the bus route ends, and then I kept walking the half mile home, under a near full moon. Sirius close by. Not a lot of traffic then, one of those weird gaps between job shifts or bars letting out, so I just hear my footsteps and see my shadow changing shape. Back to the creek tomorrow, promise...Wayne
