I leave my hotel at dusk in the pouring rain. I wander westward on Wacker Avenue. Fat drops hit heavy on the hood of my poncho.

I hustle across to the north sidewalk in the mist and traffic. The air is illuminated by headlights on tire-spray. The wind is cold.

The sidewalks are almost entirely deserted. Downtown Chicago feels hard but somehow welcoming. I cross the river on the Wabash Avenue bridge.

The wooden planks flex ever so slightly. Each is worn and uneven. Their sole purpose is supporting the passing generations of humanity.

I pause. I think about my mom. I admire the bridge hardware.

I keep walking. The rain is letting up. I turn east on Ontario Street.

I pop into a dispensary on the corner of Fairbanks Court for a couple of nuggets. I head south again and turn west on Illinois Street. Up the concrete stairs and past the pink ice cream shop.

I cut through Cityfront Plaza. The trees are just starting to bud; the first grass looks black against the lifeless gray-brown knots. I exit the traffic circle sidewalk and enter the quiet shadows of Pioneer Court.

I lean against the proud Indiana limestone of the Tribune Tower and poke a onie. I exhale. I feel myself relax.

I blink and contemplate my existence at this point-moment in space-time. E. O. Wilson tells us humanity’s problem is the simultaneity of our Paleolithic emotions, medieval institutions and godlike technology. Even still, I marvel at how a little empathy can go a long way.

I cross the river again. I spy with my little eye trains in the sky. The people of the Green Line courageously clatter eastward along the Union Loop.

I walk west watching. Heads bob asynchronously to private jams while torsos sway in unison with the rail changes; the Red and Brown Lines rattle and clank southbound out of the city. Meals to make, laundry to fold, stories to unfold…

I turn south and then east again on Lake Street. Northward on Stetson Avenue for a block and I slide into a corner market for some beer.

I continue north to the river. I pass shift workers laughing at jokes. Energy and consciousness thinly veiled by monotone uniforms.

A solitary rubber trash bin props a door. On it, I see a sign, EMPTY WHEN FULL. I laugh and grab a beer.

The Chicago Riverwalk glistens after a rainstorm. The air feels fresh and buoyant. I watch bus drivers smash through puddles that explode into tremendous fountains of light like gargantuan electrified water balloons.

I talk to a crow eating what might be a pizza crust. I open another beer and walk around. Chicagoans have returned to the sidewalks.

I head west again back to my hotel. Inside, the squeak of my shoes reverberates harshly off the white marble walls. My feet are soaked and my toes are cold as I wait for the elevator.

I notice my aging face in the elevator mirror. I smile. It smiles back at me.

I am a little tipsy and a little enlightened. I feel tired yet renewed. I yawn.

‘Round midnight, I open the door of room 1604. I walk to the window. I grab my phone and snap four quick pics.