"We can have in life but one great experience at best,
and the secret of life is to reproduce that experience
as often as possible."
She walked out of Northern Trust - on the Monroe side - just as I rounded the corner from LaSalle. Walking behind, I watched her bobbed hair as it shimmied back and forth across her long neck to the rhythm of her walk. A sleeveless black linen dress hugged her hips and between them a tiny bottom shimmied in synch with her hair.
She wore flat black sandals and her toe nails were lacquered brandy-cherry red. A glint of sun struck her large toe and a flash of white light cracked off the rounded nail and, with it, I was aware of everything.
The EL's banging and rattling going north on the tracks scored the scene of a Chicago Spring afternoon where, in the moment, it all stopped and life came together. The bob and bottom froze as the toe nail flashed in the fore ground of a subway train cutting my picture in half with an aluminum streak.
It lasted 10 seconds. Intense, crisp and bright turned to muddled and dull. Like going from 70mm Cinerama to a nine inch B&W TV. The bob disappeared. The EL faded. I walked into the Madison street entrance of the Northwestern, bought an Old Style in a brown paper bag and headed to the 5:07.