Places where things happened

The alley beside my apartment on Wayne Street. My bedroom window is the second one in the line. That’s where M. would break into my apartment on a nightly basis.

The psychedelic walkway at O’Hare. This is where I ran to catch my flight to White Plains, in the middle of a panic attack. Good times.

Cafe Avanti, Southport. The congregation point for all of us for a bazillion years. So many memories.

The spot underneath the L tracks a bit south of Addison where I wiped OUT one crazy night. My worst wipeout ever. I was with Jackie and Rob and we were walking back to my place on Melrose, and suddenly I tripped over an exposed manhole cover – the sidewalk was being dug up – and I was AIRBORNE. I literally FLEW through the air, and ended up on the ground, eating dirt. I am so lucky I didn’t knock out my teeth, or puncture my eyeball. It was a wipeout of global proportions. And all I remember is Rob saying, in a British accent, totally deadpan, “Oh, dear lord”, and Jackie saying, in a kind of dismayed solemn tone, “Sheila, you’re on the ground!”

The Melrose Diner – corner of Broadway and Melrose. I lived right down the street from that place, and ate there probably 4 times a week. Awesome diner.

My Pie! Every Sunday, for YEARS, Jackie and I would have dinner at My Pie, and then go back to her place and watch Life Goes On, a show we absolutely adored.

Improv Olympic. Words cannot express how many adventures I have had in that building. M. worked there, taught there – we would meet up after the place closed, because he had keys – and he would play the piano for me, and we would drink and play cards and make out and watch movies. I also saw a million shows there – or I would meet up with him after his show – but my main memories are of me and M. there, afterhours, hanging out, bringing food in, all the lights off except for maybe one neon beer sign. Making out. Playing cards. Magic.