Thursday, May 2, 2013


Seen on the Red Line to 95th at about 6 p.m., May 1st, 2013

She has a pirate’s scowl to match her wooden arm—a regular Captain Hook. That’s what Reagan’s coworkers call her behind her back. She doesn’t mind the moniker, however mean-spirited. Reagan could have had a prosthetic arm, but she opted for the wooden limb and metal hook instead. They make her feel powerful.

You know that feeling you get when you can’t remember where you left your keys? That’s how Reagan feels about her arm, even after all these years. In small doses, this feeling is merely a nuisance, but the human body isn’t made to cope with it constantly. Every day the feeling nags at her—it boils acid frustration in her belly and causes Reagan to curse her feeble mind. If only she could remember what she did with it, only she can remember, only she doesn’t want to.

Most days Reagan is angry. She yells at people, she shoves them out of the way. Only whole people have enough peace of mind to be polite.

She shoved me out of the way. Who knows? Maybe she was just having a bad day.

Went to the Cubs game yesterday. They won, which was a pleasant change of pace. Nothing like a baseball game at Wrigley in unseasonably warm weather. The opposing team, the San Diego Padres, have a player named Yonder Alonso. Felipe and I decided that it sounded like a novel or an epic poem. Then we settled on a poem about American pioneers that is later used in a hipster Levi's ad. Think about it. It's perfect. "Yonder, Alonso! Yonder, though the night is dark and cold, though our food runs low. We circle the wagons tight together, brethren all, the celestial deep velvet black above our heads. Look how the stars portend our new home, shining and bright on the Pacific shore..." Something ridiculous like that.

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