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Another nice day for a skate along Chicago's gorgeous
Lakefront Path. After Dave posed
for a precarious picture, we slow
rolled along the pier where what
looked like trash turned out to be about a thousand dollars in cash and cheques.
Sheraton Chicago baggage check and a legible signature was all I needed to
leave my name with the hotel security office. The woman's daughter called
from Washington. Turns out the person who lost it is a glass artist who shows
in Seattle. A rep from her gallery said said, "There is a God!" and met us
at the Woodlawn Tap for the exchange.
I slid the manilla envelope across the table, the light streaming in the
window at the far end of the bar, a fitting cloak and dagger feel in this
city of gangsters
immortalized
by Brecht and home as well to a large fascist monument, a gift from Mussolini
in "the eleventh year of the fascist era"--1933 to you and me. An old Italian,
or maybe German Jew with a metal filter where his nose used to be, commented
bitterly on the worn inscription--"It's rrrrrrrotting." |
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