Chicago is under a winter storm warning, which is superb in my book. I bundled in my snowboarding jacket and ventured out to the supermarket to see my neighborhood looking like a ghost town. I opened the heavy wooden front door to my building and had a bunch of snow fall in on me, so I was glad to have my big boots and sub-zero tough socks.
I have lived in many different cities, and I have to say, that the inclination among Chicagoans to stockpile booze and get hammered when the weather is too much is an interesting one. I saw four people at the supermarket with carts filled with booze and valentines. Oy, valentines. I’m a v-day refusenik, btw.
So, anyway, now I’m home. listening to Il Guaranay and having coffee and drying the cold melting snow from my pants on the radiator, working and watching my cat chirp at larger snowflakes, thinking them to be birds.
My neighbor across the street is out in front of the building, shovelling show off the walkway in full cowboy attire. What on earth is going on with all of these cowboy types around me lately? Is there a fashion happening going on that I know nothing about?
Apparently, I have nothing better to do today than take sneaky photographs of my fucking neighbor, right? Well, I have quite a lot of work to do today, as per usual, but, every time I look away, it seems as if my cat has some urgent kitty business to attend to.