Tommy and I went to Chicago to visit Serpico this past weekend (as in Todd, not Al Pacino) to take in the White Sox/Oakland A's game. We had a major tailgate before, so I can't really tell you much about the game, although I'm pretty sure the White Sox lost. I talked to a lot of people with funny names. Serpico, Navar, Cleary, Walt (as in part of a last name). I squatted over a Johnny-on-the-Spot. I cringed with embarrassment as Walt and Serpico screeched at each other and tried to speak Spanish at 12:30 a.m. at a Mexican restaurant. On the way to the train station, the cab Tommy and I were in was pulled over by the police. The cabbie was speeding and talking on a cell phone. When the police came up to the car, the cabbie pointed to Tommy and said "He was on the phone, not me." Tommy and I got our luggage and fled the scene of the crime. Yay, Chicago!
The entire time, I kept thinking of Dujka as I was in the southside. Dujka!!!!
1 comment:
I also forgot to mention I saw a homeless man's penis not far from the Sear's Tower.
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