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  • Writer's pictureLeah Jones

Fear and fear in Chicago.

Friday night I felt something I haven’t felt in five months.

Fear.

I was walking from the Roosevelt station to Joe’s apartment in the South Loop. I was alone and had headphones on. I kept the music turned down to be able to hear approaching footsteps. I hand my mobile phone in my hand to call 911 should something happen. Suddenly, the four lane streets and the height of the city was frightening.

Everything and everywhere is safe in London, at least everywhere I went and I never felt unsafe. Sure, I kept tabs on my purse a lot closer, but I never felt like someone would ambush me–other than nannies with prams on the sidewalk.

Chicago seemed darker and more open than I remember. The alleys are alleys, not mews. Everything is not packed with residential and commercial, but there are empty lots and parking lots. The chain stores that light the way, let you know it is at least up and coming–but it might not be up and ready.

I intend to keep my music volume low for a few more weeks as I ease into Chicago.

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