The Lakeshore Limited - or whatever this train is called - isn't as nice as the Empire Builder. Window seats, however, are much nicer than aisles. And it's only 24 hours untill I roll into Boston.
So I'd like to come back to Chicago. My friend assures me there's more to it than the three blocks between the Amtrak station and the commuter train hub. The three blocks I saw were nice, though. In fact, my limited impression of the city is quite favorable. It's funny how you can get a feel for a place almost instantly. I fell in love with New York walking across it with luggage (and a prayer) on a 95 degree Memorial Weekend Sunday. After driving around Seattle for a while, I only knew it wasn't for me once my feet hit the pavement. Chicago's a proper city. You can just tell. Any city that would object and then ironically own the label of "Second City" to New York has to have something going for it.
In Chicago I was approached by three men asking for change. That doesn't happen much at my small, liberal arts college. I had with me a grocery bag of too much damn food, but I shooed them all off. Now, most panhandlers won't take unpackaged food. Though I could have given them something sealed. This is besides the point, though, because I wasn't thinking about what they would or wouldn't take when I was shooing them off. I was thinking, don't give an inch. Don't smile, don't make eye contact. Do not be cruel. But do not be kind. You are young, you don't have much money generally, but you have a decent amount on you; you weigh 145 pounds. Do not lead this guy on. You can't help him.
A little food wouldn't have hurt him, either. Last summer in New York I never had anything on me. In one memorable instance after explaining how I hadn't had lunch a homeless man offered me chips. Pretty quick I learned that once you engage them, it's hard to disengage. Keeping your distance is smart, but it's still hard.
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