Butternut and 4th I showed up at 6:30 to help work on the new space and no one was there For some reason I always seem to end up at the wrong place at the wrong time. Passed Fabio at the Metro as he was leaving the space after waiting for 40 minutes. I was far too tired to speak coherent Portuguese. As I walked toward the building I watched the people go by in shades of brown. I sat in front of the door listening to the hum, rattle and screeches of the buses as they passed and the click clack click clack click clack of the wheels of the train and the weeoo weeoo of the car alarms and the Go-Go pumping from the jeep stereos. I saw brothas exchange "what's up man?" across the street. In fact, I can barely write this poem for all of the "how you doin' today?"'s from men who try real hard to look me in the eye when they greet me even though my skirt is way to short for me to sittin' on this here stoop. Sistas in suits brothas in bowties people pacing back and forth on cell phones. Ladies in Lexuses winos with run over shoes the stale stench of alcohol and summer funk. I feel the rhythm and pulse of this urban landscape with country warmth in this community rich with culture, rife with contradiction. I feel calm. How long should I wait here? I sit and look out at the street for a few more minutes before I get up to leave. As I look over my shoulder I smile knowing that the space will be there tomorrow and the next day and the next. Yeah... FICA will be right at home here. ~Charisse Williams (ICAF-Chicago)~