Lincoln Playboy, Sorta
WHOOOOSH! When an airplane began descending from the clouds not too far over my head, my eardrums had started to shake violently, similar to that of a washing machine in use. I’ve hardly wandered two blocks and my gut feeling is telling me that is going to be an eventful walk. Without intention, I embarked on an unexpected journey across Middle Earth. That was a joke; it fell a little itty bitty short. Truth be told, I was heading south down Lincoln Avenue, which has absolutely no association with my political ideology. Enough with the humor, Jimmy. Time to dive right into this narrative.
My walk began on the corner of Lincoln Avenue and Catalpa Avenue by the CTA bus stop, literally next to one of the departments of the Chicago Police. In an instant, a man on his bicycle appeared out of nowhere. I had not expected his bodily presence due to the low-hanging branches on trees that surrounded me. Woah! I shouted as I leaped forward to avoid a head-on collision. It wasn’t until the scary bicycle man left that I realized I nearly had stepped on a squirrel. For a duration of what seemed to me as a full minute, the little squirrel had been staring at me with its wild little eyes. Nope, nope, nope. I will not get rabies. I ran away. The creature did not pursue. I lived to tell the tale. A few moments after ceasing to exert my physical abilities and accept that I am out of shape, I hear a woman let out a short scream from across the street. She just dropped her purse. That’s all. No big deal, I hope. Just pick it up, ma’am. Keep it moving.
Everything was nice and quiet for a block or two, but then I reached one of many laundromat locations. Oh, those darn washing machines remind me of the airplane that I heard not fifteen minutes ago. Someone was playing a great Spanish song; thinking back to it, I can’t remember what music it had been since the washing machines drowned all other noises out.
A mere fifty feet past the laundromat, I wait at the corner of Berwyn Avenue and Lincoln Avenue to cross the street. I look at the opposing crosswalk sign and count down along with it. Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Accidentally, I noticed that I was being stared at by a girl sitting in the passenger seat of her parents’ minivan, being driven by who I assume to be her father. She hesitantly diverts her attention to the road in front of her, quickly followed by the traffic light changing from red to green. So I continue my walk. Boom! Clang! Pow! Metal collides as careless customers are entering and exiting Tony’s Fresh Produce, as if they did not know to properly use a cart in public. The closer I got, the stronger the scent of fresh produce became. One block further, and I spotted a Volkswagen Beetle, commonly referred used to play “punch buggy”. I yell, “Blue one!’ Then realize there is no one around for me to attack, except a stranger ten feet behind me.
Slowly but surely, I approach Lincoln Avenue and Winnemac Avenue, and I see one of my fondest memories of the area: Boomer’s. Boomer’s was a childhood favorite restaurant for my sister and I. They had the best pizza, burgers, and hot dogs that our little minds could imagine. But thirteen years ago, things changed. Boomer’s went out of business and my family was forced to fulfill our pizza desires elsewhere. It was such a disappointment; but hey, what did I know back then? Approximately six months ago, they had built a Pizza Hut location next door to Boomer’s. Please, just twist the knife while you’re at it.
What I saw next had perplexed me at first glance. I stopped momentarily to investigate what this was on the crisp white walls outside of “Little Fox Day School”.
It was a fox! There’s no way that the children painted this themselves. Wow, that art is sweeter than pumpkin pie, I said to myself as I took a picture of it. I couldn’t help but notice that many people, from both sides of the street, had been gawking at me for that. Another block further south, on the corner of Lincoln Avenue and Ainslie Street, stood of the tallest buildings in the area: Team Redzovic, a Jiu-Jitsu training center. Surprisingly, I had not noticed it prior to this walk of solitude. The door was wide open. So, naturally, I stuck my head inside and took a brief peek of it. It was rather dark, so I had not seen much, just a few people practicing a jiu-jitsu match while other watched around them. While there may not have been much sensory stimuli received by my cornea, my nostrils were certainly overwhelmed. I shouldn’t be surprised, but here I am, sticking my nose into a gym. Amateur. Retreat.
I took advantage of a desire path that I had seen, cutting through a McDonald’s plaza rather than waking around it. Once I stepped foot on the plaza, I heard the horrible noise of car tires being forced to halt before it passes a stop sign without coming to a complete stop. Silly driver. And there’s the smell of rubber. Today’s a great day, I’m telling you! Plop. A raindrop lands on my cheekbone and slithered down my face. Oh, no. I jinxed it. Superstitions scare me. By now, I have reached the end of Lincoln Avenue, where it meets up with Western Avenue, as if they’re good friends that haven’t seen each other in a while.
The Western Brown Line Station, my destination, is finally within my view. My feet had just begun to feel the burn, so I shouted in moral support, “Just three more blocks, you can do this!” My legs are good listeners. Leland Avenue and Western Avenue is where I must cross the street to reach my endpoint. I have the right-of-way as a pedestrian, so I do not hesitate. Nor do any of the three drivers making right turns in front of me. Welcome to Chicago. Of the three cars, the first two had been distant enough where none of us was worried about me getting injured — the third and final car, not so much. This car had been slightly more than one foot away from me, and neither of us faltered. I extended my arm outward and tapped one of his brake lights — it didn’t light up.
