Dear Mr. Crazy F*ck,
Yes, you there on the L platform. You at the transit station with no destination in mind. You, wearing six t-shirts in August, with a seventh draped around your neck. You, sporting the grey sweatpants streaked with insidious earth tones. You, parting the sea of transit patrons with a deftness that would make Moses himself jealous. You, shouting unintelligible remarks, yet somehow clearly communicating your message. You, making the tourists feel at ease by pointing your finger directly at them for minutes on end. You, gesturing emphatically on the edge of the void, helpfully guiding those oncoming trains to the proper stopping position. You, tightly clutching that familiar yellow and blue Chicago Plus Card… yes, you.
How exactly, sir—forgive my curiosity— did you procure that card? Which computer was it that you used to navigate the CTA site? Which option made more financial sense to you, Pay-Per-Use or 30-Day Pass? And for billing purposes, to which credit card is that account linked? (Dear Mr. Crazy F*ck, Congratulations, you’ve been pre-approved!)
Oh, Mr. Crazy F*ck, you never cease to amaze me! Just when I start to become at ease with your manic ways, you go and pull a stunt like this. Perhaps there is more to your book than it’s cover would lead me to believe. I admire your resourcefulness, sir, and I respect your rogue individuality. I will reserve the right, however, to continue avoiding eye contact at all times.
Sincerely,
L. Rider
