Boystown

...I forget the year, but I was living on the corner of Clark and Belmont. I was renting a small one-bedroom apartment in a four-storied apartment building—conveniently located atop the L & L Tavern. Terrible parking, the constant thump of base, and the overwhelming stench of urine and pigeon feces cut my stay to just one year, but it was a fun place to be in my early twenties. It is there, in Chicago, that I set my first tale.


I was on my way out one day when I spotted something unusual in the gutter. Drawing closer, I realized it was a beaded necklace.


My “good Samaritan” instincts kicked in, and I picked the object up to see if it might be valuable. Upon further inspection, I determined it not to be any sort of precious material, and therefore didn't warrant a LOST & FOUND posting. It was mine for the taking.



It had a really cool design—large soft rubber balls set on a simple and sturdy cord. It had a very “Wilma Flinstone” quality to it. I immediately mentally paired it with my black studded belt--throw in a black t-shirt, and that’s what I was calling an outfit in those days.

The only thing my newest acquisition was missing was clasps—this was, of course, no feat to someone at my crafting skill level.

I placed my new necklace in my purse, and set out on my way—pleased.

Several of you, dear and clever readers, may have picked up on what became all too obvious as I was walking away. It was then that the truth my mind had denied me became overwhelmingly clear...anal beads.

I spent a good portion of that day in quiet reflection.