I no longer move dental equipment for a living. I no longer spend hours at a time, poking around in the rust and vague, toxicity of a truck-yard on the far south side of the city. Instead, I work as a market researcher: I spend hours on a telephone: asking questions and typing statistical data into old, old computers. I don’t miss the truck yard. I don’t miss loading heavy things onto potentially mutinous trucks. I don’t miss the hours upon hours of boredom, crammed in the cab of a truck, or occupying myself in a truck-yard. I miss the woodlice I saw there: in the truck-yard, I mean…but I can see woodlice elsewhere. I miss the yellow-jacket hives…but with proper care, I my find others. Because of my change of occupation (and another one may be coming soon!) I find that my schedule has changed. I’m unable to post as often as I’d like. I’m unable to write as much as I’d like. This is a pity, as I’m at work on a massive writing project and with my new schedule it’s taking a bit longer to do the things I normally did in a single night, a single span of nights, a single month. Now, I work from afternoons until evening hours, and spend 30 minutes after work, walking around. I walked around after work tonight. In walking, I saw a sign: a remnant of classic Chicago, a potential architectural hazard, according to our former mayor. The sign—for historical reasons, no doubt—has been allowed to remain in place. It is one of my favorite signs: not because of any objective reason, but simply because it’s a marker of a place now intimate with Renderosity (and various fellow Renderosity members.) In all honesty, it’s a sign associated with various people: the kinds of people who laugh a lot, and wear green flip-flops…the kinds of people who take photographs of anything and everything, and capture things that the “average” eye habitually misses…the kinds of people who enjoy chicken smothered in an inspired and inspiring pomegranate-walnut sauce. Those familiar with my gallery (and a few other galleries here) might remember references to Reza’s restaurant and piano bar. It’s a place I visited with Tara (auntietk) and Marilyn (beachzz) with Mark (anahata.c) and Corey (CoreyBlack.) It’s a place I’ve returned to with Corey and Tara, and in the company of Bill (bmac62). It is a place that exhales the intoxicating aroma of Persian spices into its immediate, summertime surroundings, and—as, as I discovered tonight—it’s a place frequented by Iranians. I didn’t eat there, tonight. I simply walked by, but I walked in the near-presence of a small gaggle of Iranian-Americans, heading for a Friday night dinner: something of a celebration. I wanted to join them and order what they ordered. I wanted chicken, smothered in pomegranate and walnut sauce. I wanted a nice bottle of sangria (with apples pieces) afloat in the near-sacred wine-elixir. I wanted the sound of laughter, conversation, and moments of chicken-enhanced silence. I settled for a photograph. I’ll dine at Reza’s again, and I’ll do so with brilliant company. And as I work within walking distance of that restaurant, I’ll go back for more photographs, and for the scent of Persian spices, making a small piece of Chicago smell exotic and inviting. Until such time as any future return, I’m content to simply post a photograph. I like the intense color and the promise of piano music as well as food. I like the memories this sign conjures, and the fact that I saw it on a pleasant night. This photograph is only a few hours old (at the time of posting) and I’m glad that I’ve immortalized nothing, if not this… As always, thank you for viewing, reading, and commenting, and I hope you’re all on the verge of a fantastic weekend.