So you know where I've gone
I never hear about good things that happen in a parking garage. I think these events probably go underreported in the mainstream media. I should get my hands on a copy of Parking Today, the parking industry's trade publication, because I bet it's filled with ads depicting positive encounters in parking garages. I could make color copies of those ads and put them under people's windshield wipers to inform them. That would anger some parking authority figure, who would tell me I'm not welcome in his garage. Then I would hug him and tell him that I love him, thus dealing the death blow to parking garages' negative image. If only I had the guts to both loiter and litter.
I like the roof (Level 5) of the parking garage best. It's clear when it's cold, and I can see the toy-sized Chicago skyline. I only admire it for a few minutes at a time because there are always two or three vans up on the roof, and I envision myself dragged into one,"disappeared" for witnessing a politically damaging love affair or a politically innocuous murder. If a van's a-rockin' or a-screamin', "Help me!", I'm a-leavin' in a calm, cool manner. Like I didn't see nothin'. Any hospital patient who witnessed my disappearance would also be easy prey for my power-addicted abductor. Such is the nature of my high-risk, low-reward lifestyle.