Leonydes Matis

Skyscrapers watch cars driving bumper to bumper, trying to snag the first parking spot
they see. They each move slightly forward, and gray smoke emits, clouding the sun just a little
more. In each car, every person sits there, grasping the steering wheel, smelling the burning
gas. Staring, dreading their life every second. They look around, no end in sight. They watch out
their window, people walking faster than their car could ever. A dandelion ready to have a wish
made on it grows in the cracks of a sidewalk while thousands rush to work, missing their wish.
Each person walks as fast as they can. Weaving between the city streets. Passing all
distractions. They know the smokers by the train station smelling the toxicness of their cigarette
butts crushed on the ground. They know never to drive because it would get them nowhere. The
way smoke doesn’t bother them, or the homeless begging for money. The way they walk by
protests without saying a word, the shouts of hundreds of people red-faced, holding signs
encouraging others to join mixing with police sirens and marching of the forces.

They watch hundreds of tourists make them late by lining up to take pictures by the Big
Bean. Walking past the family-owned businesses of different cultures and races, competing
over which heavenly smell would enter your nose first. The smell of pastries from Poland or the
ones from Germany. Who would guide you to have a bite of even the smallest crumb? Taste the
flaky pastry and smooth raspberry jam on top sprinkled with sugar like the first snowfall. It
warms their hands, a touch of a loved one, even in the white paper that holds it. As soon as it
touches your lips, the flakes gather on you, and the pastry melts in the mouth as the rest of the
golden brown flakes fall on an unexpecting person. Proving to everyone that they had indulged,
given into temptation. Faster not to miss clocking in, gum sticks to their feet. Who cares to look
down?

It sticks even after rubbing, scraping, dragging across the cracked sidewall. The gum
doesn’t care about them rushing there. It has the heart of Chicago in it. It slows each step,
stretching the mint gum. Dirt, bugs, ashes, political flyers, and stickers are all carried on the foot
of someone rushing to work. They don’t have time to care about this. This is the city, and if you
don’t move forward for one millisecond, you will get tramped. Everyone else will get caught by
scams acting as if they have no place to go while their Tesla patiently waits a few miles away,
already cooled down to a perfect 72 degrees. For all the city’s worth, there is no other place like
it. The obnoxious nature about it clashes with the tasteful side of comfort at the corner of any
street. The community that brings itself together and hides away in nooks that can only be found
by the brave. Everyone continues to go to work, running into glass towers that open up into a
new ecosystem. They all live their lives knowing the city, knowing everything, even the
wonders, but they forget to warn others about this great place. The people in this city do not call
themselves fools, but they all know in their hearts that they are foolish to miss the wishes that
are underneath their feet.