between the buildings it's forlornly cold and deathly quiet this new years day. the old year may have died but the new year's baby's too cold to emerge. but we do emerge. we walk quick-step to find harold washington park and there is sun there and open space. every time i think of open space now i think of towers and freezing wind tunnels and polar vortices and obomba. it will be so cold in his shadow. we will have harold park, for a time. i give mister a new year's apple and i hug him for warmth and spirit and he looks at me so trustingly i think maybe i am a good egg. i say to him sweet words, you are the cutest new year's baby, mister, i luz you, and he dances along beside me, a furry golden song in our common heart.