I’m looking for a plant. A love lies bleeding plant.
Enjoy your plant.
Passers-by on the intersection of Addison and Broadway, some on their way to work, or chanting and marching towards Wrigley Field, or casually venturing out to play on Halsted, walk by building 644 every day. The three-level brownstone looms over the intersection, its bricks polished by wind and rain and snow—bricks smooth as pebbles on a red river bed. The building’s facade has a ragged poster depicting a beret-wearing, stripey-shirt frog. “Ribbeting rental prices on this side of the pond”, reads the caption. The frog points to Chauncey’s flat.
Chauncey comes home after work, kicks his rubber boots off by the front door and dances. Wearing only briefs and tube socks, he opens the windows to rush hour, exhaust, the shouts of Cubs fans in the breeze. To make space, he transfers the bare dining table to the living room—the nylon pegs digging into the same old tracks on the floor. It’s only when he’s pushing that tab…