Morning Commute: Entry Twelve:

It's almost bright when I leave the house. The blue sky is peeking through the residual clouds of last night's snow storm, reflecting off fresh white surfaces.

St. Patrick's Day is around the corner. So reminds himself taking a seat in front of me with his green baseball cap with white shamrock and his green jacket with plaid lining. Black Irish of the Southside.

His hands are long and calloused. The kind one can imagine emphasized in a woodcut. He takes great care with everything they touch. They study the Sun-Times which they carefully unfolded and removed from a string binding. They move across one particular article for several stops. They extract the advertisement inserts and neatly fold the paper and set aside. Each insert is systematically studied, folded and placed inside the largest insert which is creased at the end to keep them all together. This is tucked into the newspaper which is rolled once, placed back into its string binding and inserted into a slim black bag in perparation for exodus. Is coma nos alicubi in downtown tunnel