Tuesday: a word concierto

The lake looks like many rows of grey teeth marching toward the shore to take a bite out of the land. It seems to be enjoying how the weekend thaw removed the icy fence from its margins. The wind is whipping it up into a frenzy. The same wind twirls paper, garbage and leaves into mini tornados through the streets and whips flags around around their poles. The bus driver has had his window open. Maybe he's one of those men who is just always too warm. That March wind reaches in and grabs something out of his pocket, stealing it away into the air. It's just a small, white piece of paper but he stops the bus and runs out into the middle of the busy & crazy intersection of Hollywood, Sheridan and Lakeshore to retrieve the prize. Cars screech to a halt to avoid hitting him. I'd hate to see a bus driver die.

A new display is going up on Michigan Avenue in front of the Hancock tower. It's not quite done and it's difficult to tell what it will ultimately advertise. But for now a rugged looking construction crane parks on the side walk suspending a giant hot dog in the air over the crowd. Is this supposed to make us hungry for hot dogs or frightened? Real hot dogs can kill if you eat too many of them. Giant fake hot dogs might just kill, too. It almost looks as if the machine is hungry and has just stopped off at a roadside stand for an industrial- sized snack.

We're both dressed with blue on the top and black pants with tidy black shoes. We couldn't be more different. The difference goes beyond his brown skin vs. my white. My black on the bottom is cargo pants covered with pockets and zippers. Not like those crisp dress pants that look ready to tackle any client. I don't have that kind of arrow color shirt on. No, I personally could not survive without the pullover. I'm pulling the bag of my own herbal tea out of my pocket while you stir cream into your coffee and mix in sugar. Mr. Black n' blue - we got nothing in common.