Released into my early weekend, I skip to the beat of the drum of the glitter-glued goddess that is Ke$ha. (Yes, I know she dropped the "$", but I am crooning to "classic" Ke$ha) I reach the musky, underground station and see the usual (sub-par) subway performer. Today displays native flute music from a birth-defected, dwarf-armed homie. More emotionally charged than most performers, he receives a fair chunk of change from suits passing by.
I wait willingly for the next red. My weekend has officially begun. As the bright orbs grow in the tunnel, a quick prick of pressure pushes me from behind. Before the head finishes its innate turn, a being flashes in front of me like a ghost of color in human form. My eyes bobble to focus while my mouth goes into autopilot projecting a surprised "hey!" The tone sounds as if this ghost is my long lost friend from across the globe even though the likelihood of knowing the person was slim to none in the city of wind and overpopulation.
I gain focus for a brief moment as the being never slows in movement. I see the face. The progression of wink to flirtatious grin presents a flawless performance as if from many years of rehearsal and missed notes. The moment enters into a 90's Baywatch scene as motion slows. Although without the sunlit boobs and bods, the few seconds entertain an entire episode (commercials included). Reaching my final camera shot, my Starbucks' secret washes into the waves of windy commuters.
My Red arrives. I step through the beaten steel doors, head rolling, wondering if I have a newfound stalker in the windy city.
Am I being stalked? Stay tuned!
Chi-Love,
J-ROD
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