I went back to chicago for work. there was plenty of time on this trip for exploring the strange places, the
al marts and the
doughnuts all day and the
johnny pam cakes featuring adult entertainment nightly come in and say hi to pam breakfast served all day. there was also time for swimming alone in a hotel pool and for writing until the weird hours at a bitter cafe on the side of the highway. I'm not sure how i can feel so content in flat places where i know nobody and it's a stinging 4 degrees outside, yet when the plane sinks back into my drizzling city i have this ability to feel empty again. what is that?
