A Guided Tour Of Chicago

he shuffled up a pair of surfer slippers and an old tweed blazer.

asked you for a quarter and you looked the other way. he leaned

up against the tow zone sign and just in time for you to avert

your eyes said "good morning sir. have a nice day."

she wears four wool winter hats all year round and mumbles and

sometimes screams. he wears a coat made of burlap sacks and sits

in parking lots, never asking anyone for anything. he's the old

black guy with the shopping cart. she's the old lady with the

bright blue sweat pants. they're the two young white squatter

kids with dirty undershirts and rotten teeth. he's the guy who

hangs out underneath the overpass shouting curse words at

passing motorists, or the guy who passed in my alley, who drank

until his life made any sense. he's the hustler on the train. or

his four accomplices, living on three tattered playing cards and

slight hand. he's darron in front of 7-11 on walton and state.

she's babs up and down on belmont right by the train. he's buddy

and his wife in uptown, by the aragon, he's andy selling

streetwise at the white hen in boys town. he was ed from

southside who gave me cigarettes and hope at wallgreens on

belden and clark where inspiration dies alone. yeah, these are

the people in your neighborhood. they're the people you don't

see when you're walking down the street. they're the people you

don't see each day