Last summer, I worked in downtown Chicago and spent two or three hours every day riding the el. I recorded some of the more interesting things I saw in my notebook.

July 24, 2009. 15:37. Austin Stop.

An old African-American man enters the train. He is wearing floral print and carrying a rather large bag of books. He sits across from me. I glance curiously at his books. Noticing this, the man generously offers to show me his collection. He introduces himself as Charles Anthony, a scholar and a revolutionary. His collection includes several conspiracy oriented books as well as a collection of Lou Reed’s lyrics and a text on phallic worship. Mr. Anthony notes that the peoples’ eyes are finally being opened and that the time when we’d be able to control the government once again is at hand. He offers musings on Lou Reed’s lyrics, noting that Mr. Reed had to be crazy. When he sees that I am getting off, he has me take his collection of books so that I might educate myself. He also invites me to a rally that was being held at a revolutionary book store later in the week. I don’t plan on attending.

July 26, 2009. 17:02. Clinton Stop.

A gorgeous blonde girl bounds onto the train and takes a seat next to a middle aged man. The girl seems to have recently been at a dance studio as she appears to have just escaped from the set ofFlashdance and her face is covered with glitter. The man next to her is clearly poor, and his fingernails are each about an inch long. He dubs the blonde Madonna and begins to serenade her with a gravelly voice. Intoxicated? She takes it remarkably well and begins to join him in a spirited rendition of ‘Material Girl’. They finish to uproarious applause from the entire train. The blonde rises and curtseys as she leaves the train. She blows her duettist a kiss as she walks away.

August 3, 2009. 8:06. State Street.

Getting on the train, I see three men sprawled on the floor in the rear of the car. They are breathing. As the car begins to move, one looks up and nudges the others. The begin conversing, but I am too far away to hear anything clearly. Eventually, the largest man gets up. His hair falls to about mid-back and he has an enormous white beard. He is wearing an Iron Maiden shirt. Speaking in a slurred voice, he announces that they are a rock band, and that they were wondering how to get to the Congress Theatre. An elderly gentleman, dressed for the races, begins to give them directions. Listening to the old man give directions, I know that he is sending them in almost the complete opposite direction. I assume that he just doesn’t quite know where the Congress is, but I choose not to intervene. At the next stop, the rockers dash out of the car to catch the red line about to depart, heading away from the Congress. The old man is giggling. He notices me staring and happily says, “I hate metal.”

August 16, 2009. 11:30. Adams and Wabash.

The train is just beginning to decelerate. The door at the front of the car crashes open, and a teenager hurtles down the aisle. As the train stops, he leaps into the air, Superman-style. He crashes into the door at the back and yells, “Damn.” The doors open, and he exits the train.

August 20, 2009. 18:44. Clark and Lake.

A little boy gets on the train with his parents. He is holding the lines of about 10 animal shaped balloons. His parents ask if he had fun. He says yes. They ask if he likes his balloons. He says yes. Something catches the little boy’s eye. I glance down the train and see that a little boy and a little girl at the other end are staring at the balloons. The boy gets up and walks to the end of the train with his balloons. He walks up to the onlookers, a few words are exchanged, and he gives each of them a balloon. He returns to his seat and his parents pat him on the head. He quickly falls asleep.