Yesterday evening was a fun experience. My roommate and I got stoned and left for the Cubs game in my car, and we took a roundabout path through Park Ridge. Park Ridge is a lovely suburb of bricks, ivy, and tall oak trees. Everywhere you look is green. Combine this with a good buzz and some soft golden sunlight, and you've got idyllic to a T. Add some Beatles songs and you'll feel like you're riding a hot air balloon in slight turbulence.

The busses weren't running on time so we walked about 3 miles from our parking spot to Wrigley. Weaving through the milling mobs and entering the gates, we made our way to the food stand and loaded up on overpriced dogs and sodas.

Our seats were right underneath the broadcast booths, at the bottom of the upper deck, right behind home plate. I could see everything on the field, and the announcer's speakers were directly above me. With the sun fading and the lights taking effect, the field seemed like a magical playground awash in a silver glow. The hum of voices was the breath of the stadium, the clapping the pulse. There are no strangers when you're in a place like this, only friends yet to be met. Everything becomes far greater than it really is.

I wish I could stay forever.

Cubs 10, Brewers 1
11:21 AM - Bottle Rocket Fire Alarm