The Long Haul

It's 10am. Monday. I am on the crust of Chicago in a motel (formally known as 'Howard Johnsons') next to the "Mirage", a rental banquet hall, where my high school prom was. I'm here as help for two dear friends who are moving to Chicago after a 10-12 year hiatus. I have to say, it was the longest drive, ever, maybe. I missed a sweet dj gig and two days of work, to get to Chicago, to find that the apartment that my friends drove here from, leaving their Brooklyn garden apartment, is not finished yet. I feel bad for the cats involved. Wassabi is freaked the fuck out. Rocky is not as bad. don't know how we are going to re-trap them, or where they are even gonna be taken. I feel bad for these folks. I will only be in town for a day and want to spend it doing something fun. That might not happen. I will freak out if I have to stay in Schiller Park, again, tonight. I am getting the fuck on facebook and weighing my rooming options. The even shitter part of the equation is, being so close to Ohare, I have to leave from fucking Midway (on the other side of the city)and I have a layover in Atlanta, and what should be a two and a half hour flight, is gonna be like eight hour affair. Pissed. Plus, it snowed, whhile we slept. Who knows what is gonna do for the airports, here. There was a caper involved, that might have made everything worth while, that fell through (maybe for the best). I question why I go out of my way to help my friends, but when I see the bit of relief in their faces, that I could be of help to them, when they are in a pickle, is worth it, I guess... I still wanna have some fun tonight! I need a fucking pizza puff, a joint, and an Old Styleeeee!!!!