From Chicago to Flensburg

Morning condiments for the preparations to leave (sans boric acid):


I had a 'riding your bike mid-day past the three-piece suits (to fruits, to no absolutes, to Absolut, to choice, to the Village Voice, to any passing fad, to being an us for once instead of a them...La Vie Boheme**)'-moment, taking my backpack onto the commuter train from the suburbs to Chicago (so I could retrieve my passport with Brazilian visa the morning before my mid-day flight because those lovely people require 5 business days to perform the 20-second task of granting the visa.) I might have been imagining, but despite my heavy load (including the addition of 1 bag to the freight as of Chicago), some of the commuters looked envious.

((**Love of these music and lyrics is something I share with some of those closest to me (with whom I could sit and sing enthusiastically through both discs of the original cast recording -- ahem Melissa!). I love that some years ago I heard my brother in CA playing it while we were talking on the phone, and we could know by guessing (guess by knowing) on the first try each others' favorite songs of the 40+ tracks.))

And so that morning I walked around downtown Chicago with one large backpack on my back and one smaller one on my front. I am sure if my skin were darker I would have been followed, stopped, questioned and searched (more than once), but my tan has faded of late. I made it to the airport in plenty of time for my delayed flight.