10 months later, Court and I moved into 907 W. Roscoe. The heart of Boystown (if you live in Chicago, you know where that is and what that entails) and steps away from Roscoe’s, the hugely popular gay bar. I can’t tell you how much time we spent there…it was a stone’s throw from 907 and therefore easily manuevered after a long night of…socializing.
907 was really one of the worst apartments that I’ve ever lived in. Structurally it was a total disaster – the foundation had sunk, so the whole place was at an angle. The bedroom doors would swing open by themselves. I should point out that the above condo was NOT the 907 that Court and I remember. I guess ole Dan Carney (the weirdest landlord EVER) decided to finally let the old place go and make a little cash in the process. The best part of 907 was the generous balcony out back…perfect for parties and sunbathing. There was central air, and wait for it – a FREE stackable washer and dryer – which is a miracle in and of itself.
Yes it was old and creeky and crooked, but we had some GOOD times in 907! Strung lights everywhere, my first home cooked holiday dinner with xmas china from the dollar store(!) and a week glued to the TV w you after 9/11. Boystown was fun and safe and colorful. And someone, somewhere there has my handpainted leopard bicycle. Karma!