As I walk your streets on a dark Saturday night, I wish the wind would woosh so fast that I would have no choice but to bite my tongue and go with you across to the lake. Where children splash in the summertime while eating your deep-dish pies, and where we used to embrace while the lake’s calm waves went in and out. But we are not in our heavenly little city. For when we used to fall on the pavement we would be put back together again. The upscale restaurants don’t even stop for us anymore, and neither will you.