Hungry while delivering something, I spotted Felony Franks.
It's a hot dog stand nestled in the dying ghetto that clings to Jackson and Western.
A smiling buggy-eyed weiner shackled to a ball and chain gave a thumbs up.
The menu included the Misdemeanor Weiner, "The Cellmate" (a double dog), and an assortment of Probation Burgers. I ordered a Felony Frank and a grape soda from the woman behind the glass, who spoke to you through a trebly microphone. She was nice.
While waiting, I looked out from the barred windows and listened to the angry corner kids congregated on a beautiful day. Then a group of about twelve loud white people stormed in, and took over the room like a stale cigar. They announced that they were law students, and chose to be obnoxious, making it very difficult for anyone to like them.
"YOU GOTTA GET THE RED HOT! DIS IS CHICAAAH-GO!"
I had to get out of there. But this proved to be a challenge, as the law students were blocking the door. One law student moved three inches so that I could squeeze out. That was nice of that douchebag-in-training to do that.
Out in the world, one of the corner kids took notice of me snapping photos.
"Motherfucker takin' fuckin' pictures," he alerted his pals.
They didn't seem to mind.
I squeezed back in to pick up my order. The law students were still loud and annoying, and still blocking the exit. On the way out I pulled open the door and pressed it against a particularly arrogant and entitled douchebag cum laude.
When I cut through a circle of corner kids, the same one protested.
"That motherfucker takin' fuckin' pictures."
Again, no one seemed to care.
I took the meal home and ate it. It was good.
I wonder if the corner kids and the law students will meet again under different circumstances.
After a frustrating rush hour of cancelled orders and Cubs traffic, I parked the van by the Blue Line and took the train to O'Hare. My flight was to Tucson, Arizona, but more importantly, Lauren. She's been performing in a Second City show tailored to Arizona for two weeks. She will remain in The Grand Canyon State until May.
I decided to book this flight after a long, frazzled day of deliveries, while wolfing down a quick dinner before teaching an improv class. I decided to use Priceline, a service that provides decent non-refundable discounts. I decided to book the flight for Friday and leave on Sunday, a nice weekend getaway.
Priceline decided that my visit with Lauren would start at 11pm on Friday and end at 4am on Sunday, lasting all of 29 hours. I saved lots of $30's.
Well, actually.
Just one $30.
To say I was livid at the time of booking this would be an understated underestimate.
But it was my fault, and I had a mouthful of leftovers and a class to teach.
Lauren picked me up after her show. She got a new hairdoo that makes her look very 60's and sexy. She looks great and mine! Starving, we purchased drive thru from In-n-Out, every real American's favorite fast food burger chain. While the scent of fresh carnal anticipation lingered in the car, Lauren got us lost in the desert, not having driven in Tucson yet. This way we could wait longer to eat and things.
Eventually, we found the nutty two-story loft that she is calling home for a few weeks. It's located near downtown by a sedan riddled with bullet holes.
The In-n-Out was wonderful and much needed. Lauren gave me a birthday card the size of a mudflap that depicted two oil-painted Native Americans locked deeply in an impassioned love trance. Inside the card were clues to a scavenger hunt of gifts, including kooky socks and a drum tuner.
Let's call it the best.
Verdict: Win
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