Foster Avenue and LSD
It's a lovely day for a bike-ride in Chicago, so that's what I did. I got to the lakefront at Montrose, rode down to Belmont, then headed north again. Some people were out, and everyone was in a good mood. I was making eye contact, smiling at folks. That's the kind of town Chicago is, and that's the kind of gal I am.
Around Foster Avenue, something smelled baaaad. I figured it was some kind of nasty in the lake or on the highway (it probably was, but I think there's a correlation). I crossed Foster and smiled at a fellow bicycler, cooling his jets on a bench. He smiled back and shouted,
"Awww, baby! Sit on my face!"
He was well within earshot of a woman and her kids playing behind him, but then, so was I when I yelled back,
"Fuck you!" and flipped him the bird.
I was upset and a little scared that he might chase on his bike. I sped up and took an inner sidewalk up-and-around, so that once I headed south I'd be on a path parallel to him. No such luck; my path intersected with his back at the bench. As I approached him, I spit a loogie in the grass (the international sign for "I'm mad at you.") I flipped open my phone, pointed it at him and hit the "OK" button.
"I'm putting this picture on the internet, asshole!" I yelled. (The kids were gone by now)
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" He called back.
Maybe he was. My phone does not actually take pictures, so that's his de facto forgiveness. But I've got a new phone trade-in next month, and next time his ilk won't be so lucky ...