riding a bike down a dark path at night with a backpack when you've had too much to drink and can no longer tell directions . . . . . . .

Rocking out,

You know what the problem is with public transportation in the suburbs? There is none. The following story is one situation I dealt with personally and must share for it tells a tale of rocking and getting er done.

It all began on a my way to Evanston via the CTA from work with a pint of bourbon and a liter of cocacola.

----The four of us had had a great night,; judah, hill and fish had been partying and I had been making it rain at work mr. manager style. I got out of work around 1:30 at which point I grabbed my pack-back (containg a pint, and a cold beverage) and hopped on the next red line towards Howard. Before I knew it I was drunk in Judah's bedroom arguing with Hill over why grudge music is legit and the essence of Kurt Cobain. Soon after that we got er done and chilled out at which point most were ready to pass out. I agreed, but I was unaware how little I wanted to sleep after laying awake for an hour straight.

Well fuck, now I'm wide awake laying on the futon, which I shot-gunned, and for the life of me I don't know why I can't sleep. I've had work seven straight days and tomorrow is my chance to catch up, if only I could have collapsed in the fashion one becomes accustomed to after a night of drinking good imported beer, bourbon and getting down with the chronic. On this night there was going to be little sleep for me as I was destined for greater adventure than a seven hour snooze fest with a red bearded jew.

I leapt out of my hunter green futon to the noise of three snoring men and an oncoming hangover. My pocket were nearly empty only a grape flavored cigar and a single square to last me the from the 4 a.m. start time to my marathon finish at home.

When I hit the street I saw nothing but the night leaving over the horizon with the oncoming dawn ready to embrace the new day. For at-least 15 minutes I walked without consciousness, simply instinct and grit. After realizing that in order to walk the necessary amount home I would probably be better off catching a train in a couple of hours. Instead I decided to find a better method than the wait and see approach. I sought out a bicycle, weaving up and down alleys and Wilmette streets trying to find the right place, but nothing could be found. Instead I finally reached the Kenilworth Metra station at which point I saw a bike rack and a bench. The colors seemed to have all turned into a brownish tint by this time as I took a quick seat next to a series of bird shits on the wood beneath my ass.

Within a few seconds I noticed a few old tarnished bikes set off to the side of the rack which had no locks. One was a blue Schwinn with rust up and down the frame and only one of the gear connection wires attached. A black office clip held the frame together near the head. This was my ticket home and off I went down the Green Bay trail in the pitch black.

I must have spent about 40 minutes riding the 2.5 miles it took to get home, because I couldn't see a thing. My hands could barely hold the wheels straight and I became increasing paranoid about the night goblins and late night freaks or animals which could possibly endanger me. By the time I hit downtown Glence where the Metra railroad goes over Hazel Street I had had enough. I took the bike to the top of the tracks at 5:30 a.m. and tossed it east, off the bridge, towards the lake directly onto the pavement over 20 feet below.

By the time I got home on my feet the sun was coming up over Lake Michigan and I walked to the end of plane and watched for some 10 minutes or so. Feeling fulfilled I celebrate my victory once I got inside and I hit the pillow at 6.

By the way: This is how badly you have to want it.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wNd-CIBie8s