Still shambling the streets of the city Nelson Algren defined, I am the Monster in a madhouse refined. Burma Shave.
Saturday, December 20, 2008
Nobody On The Road, Nobody On The Beach
Here's the temperature readings for tomorrow:
----- MY-CAST FOR CASTLE FRANKENSTEIN -----
Sat 9PM: 20F (Wind Chill 9F) Wind SW 10 Light snow
Sat 11PM: 17F (Wind Chill 3F) Wind W 13 Light snow
Sun 1AM: 14F (Wind Chill -2F) Wind W 16 Cloudy
Sun 3AM: 12F (Wind Chill -7F) Wind W 22 Cloudy
Sun 2AM: 13F (Wind Chill -5F) Wind W 20 Cloudy
Sun 8AM: 5F (Wind Chill -18F) Wind W 26 Cloudy
Sun 2PM: 8F (Wind Chill -14F) Wind W 26 Partly clear
Sun 8PM: 11F (Wind Chill -9F) Wind W 23 Cloudy
Mon 2AM: 9F (Wind Chill -9F) Wind NW 16 Cloudy
Mon 8AM: 8F (Wind Chill -7F) Wind W 11 Clear
Currently: 23F (Wind Chill 15F) Wind SE 6 Cloudy
(on Sat 6:51PM CST at Chicago Midway Airport)
So, yeah, we are not going to the lake with Harry's ashes. Hell, half of us could deal with it, but there's a few that might fall on the ice. So I'll be taking the bus & trains to Oak Park, Red & Blue Line. And here's how I am, pretty much breaking into misty eyes (which I TOTALLY EFFING HATE, mind you) when I heard not Don Henley, but Black Flag, singing "Boys of Summer," hence the title of my blog entry. I feel like a fool, but hell, after Sid Williams, Harry was my next big email buddy. I've mentioned that before (our email and postcard antics), but considering how I go on about despising technology, those almost daily emails made Harry a kind of roommate. Now, after Sid, I cannot think of anyone even close, so I'm pretty much afraid I'll be crying on an empty Sunday el train tomorrow. I get off the second train at Oak Park Avenue, walk to East Ave and then cut through Rhem Park and the house is about a block up. Diana called on Friday and we joked about Harry's voice telling us not to go to the lake: "mmmm.....maybe not...todayyy." So we will head out in the spring with his ashes. Tomorrow is the Ursa meteor shower, so if its not overcast, I'll look up as I wait for the train home and maybe he'll flash by. I think of times past as I, myself, keep heading west into the black...Wayne
Labels:
Harry Fassl,
Pratt Avenue Beach
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