The Fall of the House We Called The Manor by Jeff Phillips

Chicago Literati

In the spring of my first year in Chicago, as a college freshman, I went with my friend Alicia to a zine reading hosted at someone’s live/work space in Rogers Park. It was in a storefront across from a fenced off, grassy incline and the CTA Red Line tracks. A pile of tube TVs were stacked in view of the street level windows. The inside space was long, with tall ceilings and exposed brick. There was a cat who took a liking to me and sat on my lap as my friend and her community of writers performed. After the reading, the event transitioned into a dance party, and a pair arrived in neon pink bunny costumes to dance the night away.

I forget the name of it now, but I had saved a business card given to me by one of the people who lived there. It was still…

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