it feels like hell. some internal combustion engine down below is running all day, days.
i walked lulu on leash, too tired to chase. we went south to 63rd and east to where the obomba land grab was first intended before it got upgraded, or metastasized. walking i felt fear, glad for lulu. it's scary outside. shootings in woodlawn, armed robberies, a hit and run death. the corona war is omnipresent and all are targets, of virus or economy, especially the marginalized people. 
the strip mall storefront where the obomba fundation had an office, creepy and dusty, with life size cutouts of the obomba's in royal dress leaning against a wall behind a desk with a phone that doesn't ring and won't answer. it was going to be repurposed as an ice cream shop before corona. it's abandoned again, signs changed and the same dust.
for a spell it was almost quiet. we listened to the birds. we thought the machinery of the planet was going to be made to rest and maybe recover at least partially. it didn't last. five months into the pandemic it's getting loud again. oh yeah, that was the sound of chicago in spring, construction. under that sound the birds weave nests, i saw an egg that hatched. soon i i'll see the inevitable fallen babies on the cement, and look up for others will fly. the engine is quiet now. birds on the fire escape, and bells now, i hear rockefeller bells. it sounds like spring and construction, birds and planes and trains and alarms—
it feels almost normal, almost like hell.