Kiernan and Montana aren't looking for complicated in their Chicago summer, but somehow complicated has found them.
[co-written with @w1ldflow3r]
[extended summary inside]
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I only ever went for a run in Grant Park before noon on Sundays. If I ran any later, it would be too damn hot with too many tourists. I was also aggressively a morning person, and liked to start the day with movement and a clear head.
I finished my run at the Buckingham fountain and started the short walk over to Cloud Gate, also affectionately known as the Bean. A strong breeze rolled in off the lake and prompted me to exhale as I started to properly catch my breath. The morning air was cool enough that I hadn't worked up too much of a sweat.
I slipped my phone out from my FlipBelt as I walked and stopped my music in favor of the latest episode of my favorite podcast. The episode was just over an hour long and would stimulate my mind as I picked up a coffee on the way back to my apartment.
"I'm Ezra Klein, and this is the Ezra Klein show."
My run had already boosted my mood, but Ezra Klein's voice provided me with an additional boost of serotonin. He was my all time favorite journalist and New York Times columnist. Maybe one day when I acquired some political clout, he'd respond to one of the nerdy emails I'd sent him over the years.
I was so dialed into Ezra's analysis of the divided soul of American liberalism that I nearly didn't hear someone calling out my name. I tugged out an Airpod and swiveled around in my Brooks.
I saw the giant dog first. It was an English Mastiff, with patches of black and beige fur blended together on its back, who glanced up at me with a tilt of its big head.
I recognized the breed only because my parents' neighbors in Greenwich had adopted one five years ago, and Ines enthusiastically offered to walk it after getting home from school. She'd FaceTime me whenever Coco would riot and just sit her ass down on the sidewalk, refusing to participate in exercise.
But my focus on the dog was short-lived because he was holding its leash.
"I called your name like, four times." Montana chuckled, eyeing me from behind the dark lenses of his wayfarers.
I'd only ever seen him dressed in handsome business attire, but Sunday casual suited him. The gray Chicago Bulls shirt looked just faded enough to come across as vintage, though his On Cloud trainers didn't have a single scuff mark on them, and his black Nike shorts looked brand new.
Meanwhile, I wore a red racerback tank top, black running shorts, and white Nike baseball cap. At least the shirt was from Lululemon, making me feel somewhat put-together.
"Sorry, I was focusing on the complexities of liberalism in America." I tugged out my other Airpod and slipped them both into my Flipbelt. I hadn't brought the case, so this was the best I could do.
"Oh," Montana gave me a nod, and the dog slumped to the concrete, already resigned to the fact that he'd be there a while. "So what, you're chasing me around the city now?"
