Notes for a Ghost, # 3
Chicago is steeped in the atmosphere for a ghost story I've spent months on. If it's all there, in the turn of the head or blink of an eye, then why should it be anything but a joy to turn images into the words that will prompt the making of a story?
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I will not tell you how they died but if you know Chicago's twentieth century back to almost its start, you might have heard their cries.
They live here. They remember heartbeats in blood that once flowed freely. They do not sleep.
They hide in rain, they play in darkness.
They were only ever children.
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