Sounds good, sounds great.

A night of live music was the perfect prescription after a week of work. The bands seemed to get increasingly interesting and skillful as the night went on. My favorite was a group called The August, fronted by a beautiful blonde in a mini dress who had this fantastic smoky, soulful voice. She was backed by a great jam band, including a white guy with dreadlocks and a serious case of happy feet.

My other favorite was the ride home on the El. Who is out at 12:45 on a Friday night? A young couple, fighting over which place to go next. A pair of siblings, speaking some hodgepodge of French and English. Two old girlfriends, topping off a night out, away from their kids, who still manage to be the topic of conversation. A greasy haired young guy, looking seriously agitated, until he gets a text on his phone, which breaks a wide grin on his face. A too-old-to-be-out-this-late transplant from a smaller Midwestern city, tapping away on his phone, trying to fight off exhaustion and restrain his full bladder.