Kinzie Street Bridge

The Kinzie Street Bridge has been closed so long as I've lived in Chicago, or at least in the sense that it's not open for train traffic as it once was, but unable to escape the few feet able enough to crawl beneath the cross-hatched iron bars zig zagging through the brush and debris littered in its underbelly.

Two friends took me out here in early 2013, shortly before what was meant to be a three month stint in South Florida, with beers and pot, as somewhat of a farewell which would later reveal itself to be one towards the life I had grown up into when I returned decidedly to call this city my new home.

Under the sign which exalts the historic bridge, only in that it was the world's longest and heaviest bascule bridge when first constructed in 1908, tidbits compliments of any Architectural Tour, we tip-toed across teetering logs, the tips of one to the next, until we reached the last few where we could sit mid river and watch the boats passing nearly skim the precarious and unpretentious pier we jutted out onto. The city sleeps with its eyes open and from here you can peer into every illuminated window, imagining the topics unfurling out of the typed minds of the Sun Times, or the obligations that kept any salaried worker in their office instead of out here, several drinks deeps and in anxiety only for the anticipation of several months away from this urban after-dark paradise.