Chicago: One Week
Do you ever find yourself walking down a tree-line residential street on a brisk September evening, on the way to the bar to meet new friends, mining your own past for the names and faces of people you once or twice met, years ago, and with whom you were quite taken, struck even, but because of time and distance and the fact that you were such a kid back then and probably made a fool of yourself, you have lost touch and will probably never find it again? All the while, for some reason you can’t quite explain, such people still linger and sit somewhere comfortably in the further-back reaches of the back of your thinking? And on such a night, and thinking such things, do you ever come home and attempt to plug those still fleeting memories into the internet, to catch some glimpse of where those folks are and what they’re doing, only do be confronted by many fruitless searches and bad leads. But later, in the wee hours and sobering up, does your searching finally bear fruit, and does the computer inform you in a matter of fact way that all of these people now like in Brooklyn?