shave your moustache and get a real job

I can't remember a warmer October. Last year at this time I was bundled more than I was not. My then-landlady hadn't yet turned on the heat and I slept in layers of winter clothing. I'd just purchased an old army coat for $5 at the thrift store next door. I was in Wicker Park today and really missed living on that end of town. Did I mention how badly I need a haircut?

I spent the morning at Filter. All the coffee in Africa couldn't wake me, and I fettered around with the Nation crossword for an hour or two. It's one of the harder ones, even compared to the NY Times. A couple of young women wearing U of C garb sat near me and I eavesdropped a bit.

"Summer is OK, but she's really a bitch when Taryn's around," one said.

"No kidding, but her boyfriend's so hot. What's his name, again?"

"Eziekiel. He gets lots of coke"

I asked myself why I've never come across anybody from that school who has a normal name. Then I remembered my friend, brad, takes classes there. He's a grad student, though, so it may not count.

Having given up at the puzzle and any sort of legitimate caffeination, I left. I was stopped by a 20-something woman on North Avenue soliciting haircuts so she could pass some sort of exam for some unfairly high-end salon. She wanted $20.

"It'll be $60 once I pass the exam," she said.

I don't pay more than $15 most of the time, anyway, for a haircut. She was nice, though, and seemed earnest enough, but I was broke. I spent my last $2 on cheap pomade.