Jonathan used to live on the third floor of an apartment on the Southeast corner of Damen and Addison. The kitchen in his apartment had a window that faced west. The window, just above the sink, was wide and big; perfect for growing small plants on the sill—which he did.
I didn’t go there too often in the summer, but when I did I would always find his kitchen to be a bastion of stillness and simplicity as it looked down on the traffic that crisscrossed the streets below. I especially remember what it was like when the setting sun shone in through that big window, gilding the faucet’s water with its own sense of importance as it tumbled and rose up to the rim of my glass.
