Six and three is nine
Nine and nine is eighteen
Look there brother baby and
You’ll see what I’ve seen
Yes, I have a chip on my shoulder, but for good reason. I do live in the greatest city on earth. It’s the Third Coast, the Windy City, & it has spawned a new breed of American. We are more polite than New York, more grounded than LA, &, as a people, far less snobbish Boston at its worst. It’s also the most beautiful city in America, we have alleys, our garbage doesn’t collect on the streets, the rats stay in the shadows.
But we do have our problems, an epidemic of crime & violence that has lasted so long, the Chicago Police Department
exchanged Michael for Jude as it’s acting patron saint–which, if nothing else, stands as a testament of Chicago’s good humor. The city is run by the Irish Mafia, South Side shootings stopped being news three generations ago. The dead regularly vote, and yet the people take the rampant corruption with a good humored shrug. That’s how our political machine has always worked, and for some unknown reason, America elected one of us to the highest office in the land.Now it could be that I grew up here, but I can’t help but judge other cities by their versions of Division & Michigan, & they’ve always fallen short. The skylines aren’t as beautiful, & the people, well, their not from Chicago. The people on the East Coast & the West Coast both have their extremes, by the time they get to the Third Coast the unnecessary eccentricities have washed away.
So here you go, my sweet home: