LET THEM BRUSH YOUR ROCK N ROLL HAIR

The Aragon: Lights Out
Which reminds me of the Metro, for some reason, and this:
In high school, my senior year, I used to ditch school all the time and drive into the city in my four-door, Chevy Chevette, a car with luggage racks on top and a radio with a cassette player that squeaked through speakers that were not made for sound so The Cure and Ministry in their "Everyday is Halloween" days and the Psychedelic Furs and GUNS N FUCKIN ROSES all sounded like some form of livestock belching or sometimes, when I was lucky, like birds chirping, so it would've been kinda a long ride, except that I was ditching school and driving into the city and not much sounds bad when you're doing that.

I parked in front of the Metro and did a lot of staring because the Metro held secrets. The Metro knew the city and city people and what it was like to take care of yourself and Live a Life Fully Lived and people with sweet voices and sweeter guitars and people who had friends who let you be who you are and loved you because of it and never used words like "geek" or "weird" and while I stared I ached because I wanted to be a part of all of it--the scary, beautiful city, thrilling and bursting, I wanted to hug the streets, I wanted to feel the sound of the el rumbling in my chest and I kinda wanted to cry, but didn't, held it in, because I was in the city, but still I wondered if I was ever gonna get anywhere near where I wanted to be and mostly, a lot, I doubted it.

And then--zap!--one apartment, two apartments, three apartments, four, many Chicago apartments, many more than four; JESUS LIZARD (love) at LOUNGE AX (double love) RIGHT DOWN THE STREET from apartment #1; Henry Rollins at Barnes and Noble, signing books and when it was my turn he said, "What's your name?" and I said, "Kim" and he signed my book and handed it back to me and looked me in the eye and said, "It's nice to meet you, Kim"; Afghan Whigs at Metro; sightseeing tours that included west Devon Avenue and Humboldt Park BY BIKE; Lower Wacker is the fastest way to get anywhere in the Loop; a vegan restaurant on east 75th Street whose owner is a gorgeous woman with the kindest eyes imaginable and a bright orange head wrap and when I said, "I've never been here before" while looking around at faces the color of black coffee and chocolate ice cream, she put her warm hand on my cheek and said, "Well, then, love, lemme tell ya what to get"; watching planes land at Meigs Field while eating sandwiches from D'Amato's; beer gardens in summer; gangways that smell like just cut grass; parallel parking without thinking about it; watching the sun rise over Lake Michigan while riding my bike east on 55th Street; the sound of the el and the mechanical voice ("a Brown Line train, t'ward the Loop, will be arriving shortly"); driving around old former neighborhoods going, "Hey! That restaurant used to be a pawn shop!" and now, when I wake up at 3 am, my stomach in knots, worried sick about Fucking It All Up and Going No Where, scared shitless that I'm doing it all wrong, replaying mistakes until they take over my brain, I have to remind myself that the line between wishing and reality is as thin as a strand of hair and all I need is the guts to step over it.