(no subject)
I hate Chicago.
It's a city of rain and dirt and construction workers on strike who randomly decide to sing.
Interesting story, really. The last day I was there I decided I wanted breakfast at 7:00 in the morning, so I go out and try to find anything open. So I'm walking around, not lost but not caring where I'm going, when it starts to rain really really hard. And I pass these construction workers in a picket line, with the signs and the whole nine yards. I couldn't see what the signs read; they weren't holding them up. Ironic, that they would go so far as to stand in the rain on strike, when no one could read their signs.
So I passed them, and one of them started singing. It sounded like an Italian Opus. I couldn't tell.
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On the way back to Indiana, in a little town named Lebanon, we passed quite the amusing spectacle... an open parking garage.. with seven minivans all parked right next to each other. I couldn't help but wonder what all the soccer moms of Lebanon were doing in the liquor store.
It's a city of rain and dirt and construction workers on strike who randomly decide to sing.
Interesting story, really. The last day I was there I decided I wanted breakfast at 7:00 in the morning, so I go out and try to find anything open. So I'm walking around, not lost but not caring where I'm going, when it starts to rain really really hard. And I pass these construction workers in a picket line, with the signs and the whole nine yards. I couldn't see what the signs read; they weren't holding them up. Ironic, that they would go so far as to stand in the rain on strike, when no one could read their signs.
So I passed them, and one of them started singing. It sounded like an Italian Opus. I couldn't tell.
----
On the way back to Indiana, in a little town named Lebanon, we passed quite the amusing spectacle... an open parking garage.. with seven minivans all parked right next to each other. I couldn't help but wonder what all the soccer moms of Lebanon were doing in the liquor store.