Milwaukee, WI. Sun.,
June 2. Shank Hall Mark knocks on our door at 11 a.m. and suggests that
since there is no hot water in the hotel we should just "bolt" to Milwaukee.
Martyn tells him there may some crawling and I affirm that some slithering may
happen, but no "bolting" is likely anytime soon. "I can hardly make it to the
bathroom, never mind Milwaukee," Martyn sums up, in a matching set of flannel
pajamas in blue Tartan.
Chicago has a spring in its step today. 76 degrees
Fahrenheit, clear, breezy, humans bouncing, running, roller skating, bicycling
and talking happily in gentle summer air in the middle of a huge midwestern
city. I watch people moving furniture out of brick apartments, bums searching
dumpsters, skaters gliding noisily through sun-glassed crowds of Sunday
breakfast hope. Everything looks good now, just at this moment of the
Zip up the side of Lake Michigan to Milwaukee. We lay
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