Brick

I'd been to bars with bricks before. Before, those bricks reminded me of places back home-of 321 E. Clayton Street, of Locos, of Blind Pig, of the Brass Rail, of Nowhere Bar, of any bar in Athens really. Those bricks were subtle reminders that Chicago bars, Chicago restaurants, Chicago clubs, weren't all that different from back home. Chicago food-wings, burgers, steaks, reminded me of places back home-Locos, Blind Pig, Last Resort. Fine food from Chicago reminded me of fine food from Georgia. The cool, dry breeze off Lake Michigan reminded me of how fucking hot it was in Georgia. The difficulties and hours upon hours of studying reminded me of the countless hours a week I spent on Organic Chemistry, back home. I'd meet people that reminded me of Lisa, Tim, Tony, Tram-Anh, Jamie, Kim, Joe, Zach, Zack, Casey, Veronica, Alex, Drew, Tim Sheperd, and everyone I once knoew. The people I met reminded me of home. Tonight though, tonight was different. The brick didn't remind me of home-it felt like home. The wings didn't taste like home-I felt like I was home. The people I've met didn't remind me of friends back home-they'd become friends, and great friends at that. The transition between reminding me of home and being home has been crossed. Chicago is home, and it will be for a while. It's a great city. I can't imagine anywhere feeling like home as much as this place does for a long time. The weather, the food, the people, I'm Home, it's home.