triumphant return to chicago– a whirlwind of cheap wine, casual bump-intos on the street, drives down lsd, and the anti-climatic return to diner haunts. Something was missing this time, unable to locate it– that fuzzy irritation in the back of my consciousness. writer’s block prevents the stream of brassy swing with double bass undertow from getting real hot. for now. Verbal impotence. Take this shot of my lackluster doughnut as consolation.