My fourth floor window has a grid of fine wires embedded in it (a relic of the time this room was a dormitory of a children’s psychiatric hospital), so I see the world as a fish would through a net. The foreground is dominated by a very busy intersection, frequently interrupted by ambulances serving the many hospitals around here.
Beyond the intersection lies a bare green expanse. This used to contain a high-rise housing project, but that got torn down eight years ago. That land now just looks confused, having lost its sense of purpose and not knowing how to move on. The same could be said of the mostly empty storefronts that rim the expanse. As in most poor Chicago neighborhoods, I can see multiple churches without even swiveling my neck.
After the project was torn down, a supermarket chain made a bet that the area would swing toward gentrification, so their parking lot fills my western view. A couple of weeks ago, I heard a few rounds of gunfire coming from there. No one appeared particularly concerned, though I heard that there were some casualties.
Further on, and stretching as far as I can see, is Chicago’s largest Hispanic neighborhood (ironically known as Pilsen). Out among the low red brick buildings looms an old coal-fired power plant that was shut down a few years back because it was too dirty, and not worth upgrading.