My bicycle, front stoop, and Jim Withington

Several things today: cool, beautiful girls I can't date because of compatibility or availability issues; a nap in a dental chair, sorely needed and missed; pussing out on my work to go home "early"; and cheap fun.

I get home at 8pm, decide to sit on the stoop and read a bit. I finish the short story I was in the middle of, think of what I can do tonight. I should clean the house, sleep, read something educational. I want to do something free. How the hell did I have fun as a kid? I didn't have any money then...so it hits me: bike ride! I've been riding all over for transport whenever possible - why not for fun? Kids are fucking geniuses.

Just goes to show that the more you learn, the less you know.

So I head downtown, then down to Roosevelt and up the lakefront to Division, ride around Goose Island a few minutes, then head up to Delilah's so I have *some* destination. $3 and 2 Americans later I'm upstairs and who do I meet? Jim Fucking Withington. The kid doesn't even live in Chicago anymore and I meet him on a random trip to D's. It was nice to have someone to sit with, though.

I head home and end up sitting on my stoop again for half an hour listening to music. I feel like I have lots of deep thoughts, but it's really just my melancholia and anti-social isolationist tendencies returning. It really is a nice neighborhood outside my house; it's too bad my friends never come here or I never do anything outside here, for that matter. No wonder I feel like I have no home.

I love my bicycle for pulling me away from it all. I've found so many cool places to hang out and do nothing but no one can ever come with me for it.