I used to walk down Dearborn in the Gold Coast. Pretended to own a brownstone or a condo. Imagined driving a fancy car. Something that would zip on Lake Shore Drive. Thoughts on drinks and women at The Drake; a real man about town. All these dreams. Just dreams.

Tomorrow, I’ll walk down Halsted to Lake and get in line with the rest of them. All of us, in search of a paycheck. A days work. Sweeping floors at McCormick Place. Lifting kegs of beer over our heads or dragging them down a flight of stairs to the basements of  bars. Stacking pallets. Separating trash from recyclables. A day’s pay for a day’s work. All for minimum wage. God bless us all.

At the end of the day, another line to stand in. One by one, we all wait for the line to move forward to the cage where a fat man sits handing out checks. The blacks, Mexicans, down hard on their luck whites, the drunks and crackheads, the sober yet disillusioned, all waiting for what we are about to receive. May it truly go to your good.

Fifty-six dollars in hand. A bar that’s seen better days cashes the paper for a two drink purchase. I buy a cheap Old Style on tap for a buck. Tip the bartender a dollar and walk back up Halsted to my sleeping room on Belmont, passing through River North, Lincoln Park, and Lakeview. Walking by restaurants filled with people eating French, Spanish, and other fine meals. Past bars with happy hours. Among folks going by in SUVs, BMWs, Range Rovers, and neat little Italian motor scooters.

My legs are tired. The stomach is empty. And tomorrow is another day. Lord, forgive us of our sins.