Special in Chicago

         

         The brisk, tangy November wind jostled its way through the crowded streets of downtown Chicago. Leaves became kites in the updraft and the trees were like mailmen, scattering their lofty goods throughout the bustle of the city. Bretta clutched her woolen brown cap on with one hand and protected her handbag with the other. She was glad that she had remembered her faux-fur coat, for the wind bit everyone’s cheeks in the bitter air and she would certainly have been chilly without it. Straight locks of bleached-blonde hair flapped in her face as she weaved through the tangle of the crowd.

         A disturbance on the other side of the street drew Bretta’s attention - a man, dressed neatly in a dark suit, his face obscured and unimportant in the sleet. He was stark-still above the crowd, his leather-clad feet inches from gracing their hats and bonnets. His head seemed turned towards the other side of the street, perhaps at the buildings, perhaps at the icy walk.
         Making her way across the silent street, Bretta walked with a muffled click to her heels as they crunched through the layer of snow. The man lowered his head - slowly, slowly - and it was as if the passage of time paused, if only for a moment. She knew the other, and he did, too.
         Gazing down at the slender woman at the front of the crowd, he spoke. “It’s been a while.”
         “Certainly has.”
         “Care to go for a spin?”
         She grasped his outstretched hand and raised herself smoothly. Together, they took gliding steps up and over the tallest building one could see. The people of the city knew better than to follow and continued their ever-present, mindless hustle and bustle. It was, after all, Chicago.