Chicago Stories #26

-I was attacked-

Friday the thirteenth was almost forgotten. Its essence, much like curry, lingered that Saturday. I was Uptown, searching for my white whale: a job. While I was there, I noticed a steadily growing number of green-clad carousers. Being on the hunt, I had forgotten it was Saint Patrick’s “Weekend to Get Blitzed”. It’s an odd sight, at four in the afternoon, each block exponentially producing an army of belligerent, swaying iphone users.

As I soberly dodged the pockets of people trying to navigate in their own sideways world, I found some open sidewalk. That’s when it happened; nary a person was in sight, save a small child standing with his father. The boy caught a glance of me, and turned, his eyes shimmering with an unruly delight. I heard a slight screeching noise from somewhere deep inside him, as he raised his arms to his chest. In his hands was a decidedly vicious creature. He spread the mighty wings of this beast, amped up his screech, and charged.

I felt the mild softness of the blue stuffed fangs dig into my arm, and knew I was a goner. Any possibility of ruining my day was in itself, ruined. The joy contained in that boy’s determined attack, and his father’s presumed compliance in it; absolutely and terrifically, made my day.