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vyle. presses the gas, the Camry gliding down Hyde Park Blvd, his hands steady on the wheel but his mind a runaway train—no track, no brakes.
The viaduct at Lake Park Blvd swallows him for a moment, that familiar low echo of tires rolling over worn concrete, the light flickering through the gaps like an old film reel playing in slow motion.
On his left, where Paul's Arcade once stood, a "duck-off" or respite from the unwavering gang activities that his city knew on first-name basis, a place where students, street pharmacists, people who had committed heinous crimes, teenagers, and the youth would congregate, to play rounds of Street Fighter II or Mortal Kombat (the only machines there) while waiting on food.
Basically his second home in single digit years.
He's been here before.
He's always been here.
And then—Village Foods.
It appears like a ghost, like something unstuck from time—the green awning faded but still standing in his memory, even if it's not there anymore, even if the corporate sheen of Whole Foods has since swallowed it whole.
The parking lot.
The video kiosk—just a shack, really, but a kingdom to him as a kid, a treasure chest of VHS covers that he'd run his fingers across like sacred texts, hunting for anything that even remotely resembled Robocop.
That was his movie: the way metal met flesh, the way justice moved through a world that didn't understand it.
He sees it now, clear as day—the flickering screen inside that tiny booth, the way his breath fogged up the glass as he stared, transfixed.
His grandma—by blood, but also by bond—led him through Village Foods after preschool, her voice warm, her hands full of plastic bags and lessons he wouldn't fully understand until later.
The aisles smelled like possibility.
The world felt small, but in a way that was safe, in a way that made sense.
Then past the Original Pancake House.
He can almost taste the syrup, the thick heat of the place on a winter morning, the low murmur of conversations.
It was the first place that ever felt like his restaurant, where he'd spot Lisa Raye, Toni Preckwinkle, Common, and other neighborhood figures—walking myths, real people, but legends in his eyes.
They carried an energy that told him it was possible: that the city didn't have to be a cage, that dreams could stretch past the lake.
But then, as quickly as the warmth arrives, something else washes over him: abandonment.
That slow-dawning realization of what trust really means—how things, places, people—they all leave, or change, or shift into something unrecognizable.
Village Foods is gone.
The video shack has grown into a brick-and-mortar.
The Pancake House still stands, but it's not the same.
The past isn't real anymore—it only exists in him.
And just as the weight of it starts to press down on his chest, he sees it—the portal.
Not in front of him this time, but in the corner of his vision, flickering in the parking lot of what is now Whole Foods, hovering where the old kiosk used to be.
A vortex of violet, twisting, watching, waiting.
He doesn't stop.
He doesn't acknowledge it with a glance, only his thoughts on hyperspeed.
He just keeps driving.
town hall to lake shore
underground glimmering
initial order taken
behind bulletproof swiveling
same nights spent with people genre constructing
look fam you just got to trust me
out front of the building
before they sold the market
before moms walked out house
and everything became partial
(everything darken)
they'll form options
when gon' they want please (elder god)
you just gotta trust me
It's like we on alert
ain't no phone it's just chirp
said you get on my nerves
you forget all the words
i we told her we worried
you can't get in a word
had to get off curb
drivers get off the curb
first they get em referred
they get on the verge
then they get him returned
its like when will they learn
when they talk out of turn
get out of terms
you call up the lawyer
and get an attorney
town hall to lake shore
underground glimmering
initial order taken
behind bulletproof swiveling
same nights spent with people genre constructing
look fam you just got to trust me
out front of the building
before they sold the market
before moms walked out house
and everything became partial
(everything darken)
they'll form options
when gon' they want please (elder god)
you just gotta trust me
Fat Tony:
Come to my side
Before they gentrify fully
Let me be your tour guide
And we dont care about the rating on Yelp
Dont need the help
My city been a good time
Southside
I say it with pride
Third ward is mine
Where I'm from
Respect the niggas that did it
Before we ever touch the soil
Carl Hampton
The black panthers
Big moe
Sipping pink purple
And we play Selena songs alot
Frenchy's
Screw
And
Rap-a-lot
Starched jeans in a pot
town hall to lake shore
underground glimmering
initial order taken
behind bulletproof swiveling
same nights spent with people genre constructing
look fam you just got to trust me
out front of the building
before they sold the market
before moms walked out house
and everything became partial
(everything darken)
they'll form options
when gon' they want please (elder god)
you just gotta trust me
cumberbun
kept operations under wraps
after what that they did to scat
that's why I stayed ditching cabs
how you supposed stop
when the land just made the Forbes list
command control of your alternate pathways
a foray into forfeit
said they pushing on your buttons
try to make him force quit
with no knowledge of programming
but always wanna reach out
and do something that's co-branded
walked him through the deal
and he folded
like foam pamphlets