Michael had finally made it to Chicago after years of working for a shady employer in Eastern Europe. He had saved up enough money to start a new life away from his past. He selected a pale yellow one-story house on N. Central Avenue, just off the intersection with W. Chicago Avenue in one of the roughest areas of the city.
As he walked through his new home, Michael felt small and overwhelmed by its emptiness. He laid his possessions out on the floor, examining each item with care. After a few minutes of contemplation, he reached for his duffel bag and stuffed it into the washing machine. It was an odd hiding place, but with no tool shops in sight yet, it would have to do for now.
Michael walked over to the window and peered outside, taking in the sights of the neighborhood. On the other side of W. Chicago Ave stood a beauty supply store, a nail salon, and a dollar store. Beyond that was the local Baptist church, a popular branch of the faith in this area.
As he gazed upon these familiar landmarks, a strange sensation crept up on him. Excitement and dread intertwined within him, like a raging storm brewing inside. Despite the thrill of exploring his old stomping grounds, Michael couldn't ignore the nagging fear that gnawed at him. He knew he had to control his impulses and stay away from any unsavory characters that could drag him back down to the depths of his past.
On his first day, Michael ventured out for a walk around his new neighborhood, taking in all of the unfamiliar sights and sounds. An elder black man sat quietly on his porch, watching him intently as he passed. Hesitantly, Michael offered a friendly “Hello,” but he simply stared back at him without saying a word.
Michael made several visits to the bustling stores in the area, taking time to get to know the inventory, prices and people. Everywhere he went, he felt like a stranger alike. As he stepped into an old general store, he was met with a warm welcome from the shop keeper, a middle aged woman with dark skin.
"Welcome Stranger," she said with a laugh. "What can I do for you today?"
Michael took a deep breath and smiled back at her. "I'm looking to make the neighborhood my new home," he replied.
"And I guess that starts with getting to know the locals. "Aliyah nodded knowingly. "Well, you've come to the right place," she said. "My name is Aliyah, and I'm the owner of this store. How can I help you?"
Michael's gaze shifted from Aliyah's welcoming face to the shelves behind her, filled with all sorts of canned goods, snacks, and household items. He took a few steps forward, his mind racing with questions about the neighborhood and its inhabitants.
"What's the atmosphere like around here?" he asked, scanning the shelves for any hidden cameras. "Are there any people I should avoid?"
Aliyah leaned against the counter, studying Michael with a thoughtful expression. "The folks around here are tough, no doubt about it," she said. "But they're also loyal to their own kind. If you show them respect and keep your nose clean, they'll be more than willing to accept you."
Michael's confidence began to grow as he chatted with Aliyah about her store and the neighborhood. She gave him a few recommendations for good places to eat and drink, and he made a note to check them out at some point.
As he left the store, he felt a sense of belonging starting to take root within him.
After one more stop, Michael returned home with a bag of cheap and flimsy gardening tools in his hands. He didn't have much money to his name, but he hoped the tools would do the job.
As he trudged into the backyard, he noticed the chain-link fence separating his yard from his elderly neighbor's garden. The old man was sitting on his back porch quietly sipping on a bottle of beer and watching him like a hawk.
Michael gave his neighbor his best impression of someone interested in gardening, hoping to dissuade him from staring any further. Once his neighbor left, Michael decided to start digging after dusk, when the nosy man would certainly be asleep.
Michael slowly opened the cardboard boxes, taking out his clothes one by one and folding them neatly away in drawers. He lined up his shoes in a row next to the bed, then hung his jewelry on a coat hanger near the door.
After placing the bottle of his prescription pills on top of the dresser, he pulled out the photo of his family and set it down against the nightstand lamp. Michael paused for a moment to take in all the faces smiling back at him: his younger sister's mischievous grin, his parents' eyes filled with unconditional love. With that, his new home felt complete.
Michael walked over to the living room, grabbed the remote for the aging television set, and made himself comfortable on the old couch. He thought a quick nap before starting his day of manual labor wouldn't hurt. After three long hours of tossing and turning, he gave in to his insomnia.
Michael made his way out of his small apartment, grabbing a pack of cigarettes from the table on his way out. He lit one and sat on the porch, watching the world go by as the soft glow of lamplight washed over him. Inhaling a deep breath of smoke, he felt the tension ease from his shoulders.
Michael leaned back against the fence, took one last puff of his cigarette, and flicked it away. He looked over at his neighbor's house, no lights on. All was quiet, but he could feel imaginary eyes on him as he went about his work. The moon shone pale against his skin as he hurriedly dug a hole in the soil just under his backyard stairs.
Wiping sweat from his brow, he carefully placed his most valuable possessions into the makeshift grave, patting down the dirt until it was indistinguishable. Michael's gaze skittered over to his neighbor's windows, checking for signs of life before racing inside. Old habits die hard.
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The following day, it was time for Michael to visit a few potential employers in the city. Prior to this, he had conducted thorough research and reached out to various small businesses inquiring about job opportunities. In fact, a few of them had even responded to him. Although the resumes he had submitted may not have been entirely real, Michael's skills were. While he may have only possessed two years of experience in stealing cars, rather than four years as a mechanic, he knew his way around a car. Any disparities could be attributed to a cultural barrier, right?
Other than that, Michael's options ranged mostly from fast food joints to different variations of a cab driver. Not exactly his first choice. He couldn't imagine much of a career growth as a cab driver. What was he gonna become, senior cab driver? Did that come with a golden name tag?
Today, Michael dressed up in his best clothes, although his "best clothes" were just a plain shirt, some decent pants, and a pair of leather shoes. He hated shopping, but he always made it a point to buy good quality shoes. As he walked down the street, he felt a sense of satisfaction with every confident step he took. It was his first real day in a new home.
Here in Chicago, Michael was something of a towering figure, standing at an impressive height of 195 cm, or rather 6'4, which made him taller than most people on the streets. He even managed to receive a wary glance occasionally.
He had considered working as a bouncer before, knowing he would be a force to be reckoned with. However, the idea of getting involved in the potentially seedy underworld of a nightclub wasn't something he was willing to risk.
As he didn't own a car, he had to rely on the Chicago public transport system to get to his interviews. Before coming to America he had heard the worst of the local public transport, but fortunately CTA was one of the best public transports in the country.
As he hopped from one bus to another and transferred to different train lines, he saw some of the worst the city had to show, the struggles of those who lived on the margins.
The homeless people often asked him for money, "Spare any change?" they pleaded. He politely shook his head and murmured a "Sorry," to which he could hear them grumble as they shuffled away. The sex workers on the street corners tried to get his attention, cooing and winking, but he averted his gaze feeling both uncomfortable and sorry for them. The drug addicts on the bus made him anxious, "Hey buddy, got any cash?" one of them croaked from the corner seat. He shivered inside, knowing how dangerous they could get. Each of them reminded him of his past; a few years ago, he might have been among the people taking advantage of individuals in situations similar to theirs, for the last penny they could earn.
Within an he has reached his first destination, a bustling vehicle repair shop which was a part of a well-known chain with a good reputation.
Michael stepped inside and it wasn't long before he spoke to the manager. It very quickly became evident that he wasn't greatly impressed. "What is your approach to diagnosing vehicle problems?" and "If a customer complains of an overheating engine, what steps do you take to identify the root cause?" the manager asked, his eyebrow arched towards the ceiling.
Michael shifted in his seat, hoping desperately that the manager had not caught onto the fact that his resume wasn't entirely truthful. He ran through his answers in his head before responding with confidence and grace. The manager seemed satisfied with his responses, but something in his demeanor indicated otherwise. After a few more questions, Michael finally made the decision to cut the conversation short; it didn't seem wise to work for someone who might have suspicions about his qualifications.
Afterwards, Michael went to a smaller repair shop that was family-owned. The owner appeared friendly and showed interest in hiring him. They even discussed Michael's salary and work schedule. However, Michael had an uneasy feeling while he was there. The owner seemed overly eager, and the other workers were idle in the middle of the day.
To find out more, Michael decided to ask a few questions at a nearby diner. He sat down at the counter, and after quickly ordering his meal he began chatting with the waitress as she brought him his food.
“Do you know anything about this repair shop?” He asked her curiously.
“Oh sure," she replied, "I've heard from some people that it's been around for quite a while now."
Michael nodded before asking the real question on his mind: “How about the owner? Is he trustworthy?”
The waitress paused for a moment, looking down at her notepad before responding. “He is kind-hearted, but yeah... He hasn't been doing too well recently." She sighed before continuing. "It's just difficult to make ends meet when there aren't enough customers coming in anymore.”
Michael thanked her for her honest answer and left a generous tip before taking his leave, wishing he could have done something to help the small business but the only type of business he could bring it would probably not be welcome.
Michael nervously stepped into the MacDonald's and was met with a friendly but stern manager. "So, what brings you here today?"
"I need work." Michael replied, clearing his throat.
The manager leaned forward in her chair. "I see. Anything particular you'd like to do? We have several different positions open.."
Michael nodded and took a deep breath. "Yeah, I would like to work as a cashier, or perhaps something in the kitchen."
The manager gave him an approving nod. "Very well then," she said. "Let's see if you are the right pick for us."
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"We'll be in touch within a few days to let you know if you've been accepted."
Michael's heart raced as he walked away from the interview. He was quite certain working at McDonald's was not what he wanted, but if the coming days were anything like today, there may not be many other options available.
He trudged down the cracked concrete sidewalk, his feet feeling heavy with the weight of disappointment. It had been a long day and he was no closer to finding real work than when he started. The sun was just beginning to set, casting long shadows across the empty lots and boarded-up storefronts that lined the street.
Michael trudged his way to the bus stop and breathed a sigh of relief when he heard the familiar hiss of hydraulics as the bus pulled up. Steeling himself, he stepped onto the bus and made his way towards an open seat. He fished out his bus ticket from his pocket as the other passengers took their seats around him. There were tired commuters in rumpled suits, talking quietly amongst themselves, and wild-eyed teenagers in sagging jeans: everyone just looking for a quiet ride home after a long day.
As they rolled past block after block of run-down buildings and litter-strewn streets, Michael felt a sense of familiarity settle over him. This was his home, the poor part of Chicago's inner city, and it wasn't an easy place to live. But it was all he could afford, and it was where he'd made his life. His mind wandered to his family, whom he hadn't seen or talked to since he left, and he missed them terribly.
There was his father, who was a police officer in their small town. It was ironic, really, given Michael's own past. But his father was a good man, a man of integrity, and he respected him for that. He was always working to make their community a better place, always striving to keep them safe from harm. Unlike Michael, he never knew what he did to earn money, at least not until he had left. The shame from facing him after he found out was one of the reasons Michael had decided to leave in the first place.
His mother, on the other hand, worked in a flower shop. She had a talent for arranging bouquets and making even the smallest blossom look beautiful. Michael remembered the way she used to bring home armfuls of flowers, the sweet scent of lilies and roses filling the air. She was the one who taught him to appreciate beauty in the world.
And finally, there was his little sister, who loved nothing more than riding horses. She would spend hours at the stables, brushing and grooming the animals, and Michael could see the joy on her face every time she rode. She was the youngest in their family, and he worried about her the most. But he knew his father and mother would make sure nothing ever happened to her.
Michael couldn't help but feel a sense of longing. He wished he could be with them then, to hear their voices and feel their embrace. But he needed to make something of his new life, a life that was far removed from the one he had left behind. And so he sat, and he remembered, and he hoped that someday he would be able to see them again, to show them the person he had become and to tell them how much they meant to him.