I'm not entirely sure how I got here. It's an odd experience being on a strange street corner with no recollection as to the details of your arrival. I feel like I should be more worried about this, and maybe I will be once I am able to figure out where I have arrived. It looks kind of like every street corner I have ever been on. It has buildings, shops, people, the occasional car zipping by. There are differences though, not differences that are overly striking at first glance, just minor differences that serve to remind you that this no ordinary street corner.

Like at any street corner I can see what is front of me, to the left of me and to the right. I even can see behind me, but I can only presume I came from that way, so somehow that seems less interesting. In front of me looks vaguely like a scene from movie filmed in Chicago. I can see the "L" in the distance, there a pizza stands littering the side of the road and (I'll admit this is a little strange) when I stare long enough, I swear I can hear the most amazing Blues that has ever been played.

When I look to the left, it seems as though I am back in China. Now believe me on this, I am not talking about Chinatown here. There is not a sign in English to be found (though, at the risk of overusing the word, I stangly can read the Mandarin signs, this trick fooled me into thinking for a moment that they were indeed in English). Where on the Chicago street there were some little carts for pizza, this street was literally littered with carts, all smelling delicious I might add (apparently I not only have the ability to hear extremely well and read new languages, but my sense of smell has also been greatly aided). The men are riding quickly on their bikes, the children are playing soccer on the street and I am feeling something pull me over there. I fight the urge though, I still have another street to look down.

When looking the right, I didn't even need to stare before my super hearing kicked in. As soon as my eyes even glanced down that street my ears were filled with salsa (I might add that my hips were enjoying the salsa as well). What was odd is that this street, didn't really look like a street. It was actually a family farm, with a hot, but inviting sun beating down. Children were laughing, playing and dancing to this incredible music. The father was on a grill cooking up some asada, the mother was stirring something on a pot. An old grizzled man was strumming a Spanish guitar and singing with a raspy, yet beautifully worn voice. As I focused on this old man the blaring salsa disappeared. All I could hear was his voice and sparse chords of the guitar. He was singing in Spanish, but the longer I listened the more I was able to discern his words;

"Amazing grace, how sweet the sound"

With all of my heart I wanted to go down that street, but my thoughts and my insecurities betrayed me. That family seemed too perfect, too, too, oh this seems like the right word I guess, too home. I would feel like an intruder. So with that raspy voice still ringing in my ears I walked into Chicago.

to be continued...