little new yorker in a big city.
Chicago is big and scary and I apparently live in the ghetto now, my host informs me. OK, so it’s a student ghetto, but still she makes me shut my windows when I leave the house so no one will rob us. Really it’s obvious that I live in a fusion of gay and lesbian lifestyles. Julia leaves her copies of the New Yorker next to her Elrond action figures and le tigre albums; her side of the bathroom is filled with suave shampoo products and no body lotion. The gay man’s half is mostly covered in maroon flannel and there are lots of interesting baking knicknacks to be found if one looks hard ebough (belgian chocolate powder?) and mostly I have been using his toiletries.
Julia welcomed me with hummus and seltzer and made me a greek omelet because she knows what I like and wants to make me feel at home—what a friend. But then her girl friend comes and they go off into her room and I retreat into the gay man’s room and watch pokemon and miss Jessie.
But today is a new day! Julia mostly works, she has left detailed instructions on how to get to her for a lunch she is taking me to at a place where they have great vegan milkshakes. I am excited to smoke cigarettes without shame and wear a cute outfit and take this city by the balls—secretly I love being a tourist. Just need some coffee first.
