Briefly, Chicago

Browsing for perfume at Saks Fifth Avenue, I run into an English landscape architect I know through my roommate's boyfriend. We exchange pleasantries and I say I hope to see him at our New Year's party.

Two minutes later I'm nearing Neiman Marcus when I run into a guy I went on a date with in the spring. We do the perfunctory hug and a "nice to see you; let's catch up sometime" while I resist teasing him about drunk texting me last month. Both of us vanish into the maelstrom of Christmas shoppers.

Heading towards the Red Line, I meander through the Gold Coast and pass by two 21-yr-old girls dressed in tights and dress shorts, their long hair bouncing as they clip along through the cold in 4-inch heels. A second later a cute Hasidic teenager handing out flyers calls me 'ma'am'. He politely asks if I happen to be Jewish; I smile and say no, inwardly grinning. I love when people think I look Irish, French, or Polish; now I'm apparently Jewish.

Retail therapy awaits: I buy myself some rockabilly suspenders (on sale for $5) and drool my way through a futuristic travel store. On the way to the El, a bouncer cajoles a slightly inebriated tourist into his crappy bar for more drinks. I cross over Dearborn St. and wistfully recall, as I do every time, that a French friend used to live a block down before he moved back to Paris a year ago.

It's back to Wicker Park: the El, the bus, a browse through one of the best used bookstores in the city, a walk home when a new friend calls. Then inside--quickly turn on the the Christmas tree lights--and I'm in the sanctity of my room. Flipping open my laptop, I'm inspired to capture this most mundane of evenings, to remind myself how I truly relish living here. It's all good; it really is.