Windy City at the West End

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Wind's in the East, mist comin' in.

Like something is brewin' about to begin.

The late and great, Henry Mancini, was playing on turntable I received for my tenth birthday living room.

I got up, fixed myself a drink and looked at the certified paper on top of the coffee table in front of me.

I traced my fingers over the fine prints "Hazel Jewel Leigh Jones". My name. "The degree of Master of English Literature". I just graduated graduate school yesterday. "The University of Chicago" it said on the top.

I sighed, put my drink on the floor next to the chair, and grabbed the diploma booklet and put my degree in it.

I sighed again as I looked at it once more.

They would have been so proud, all my professors told me yesterday when I received my award.

Hell, even half of my classmates said the same damn thing.

That's because two weeks ago on this day was the anniversary.

But I'm fine now, I am.

I hung the Master's next to Bachelor one I received two years before.

Two years. I still remember that day, where I was, how I performed, what I did afterwards, and then Boom! Master's in English Literature. Everybody knew what happen, everybody knew where they were, everybody knew who I was. And that's an emphasis on the phrase: was.

I then go out to the patio and sit on the straw woven chair that overlooked Lake Michigan. Nice view, they said. It was great, grand and all that other jazz. One of the best views of the lake there is.

All that body of water and this sudden approached that I've officially finished school for the second time had me thinking. What next? I've done... it all. What else is there left for me to do? It's not like I can go back to school and attempt to receive a doctoral degree in... William Shakespeare.

Dear ol' Shakespeare, what did you? Where did you go? Where did you came from ol' chap?

Then that's when it hit me. I never studied abroad. Like never, not even on my last two years trying to receive a bachelor because I was performing and rehearsing double time. I didn't dare to travel to New York or Los Angelos when I was asked the chance. I haven't been there in... once again, two years.

So where could I go? Out of of this city? What else is in Illinois? Out the state? Well, I'd be avoiding New York and California I'd know that for sure, buddy.

Out of the country?

Well, like I said. I never studied abroad. But where to? There's Paris, Rome, Greece, London...

You ol' chap Shakespeare. Of course, London.

But London has... then again I'm sure every city has one. But Shakespeare has always been a dear to me, why should I disappoint him now and not go? I have the money, I presume. I have the heart, I presume. I'm.... drunk.... but that won't stop me either will it?

It can't.

Before I knew it, everything was blur and it went all black.

All I could smell was alcohol and coffee.

All I could hear was silence and my own ears popping.

All I could see was... the back of my eyelids. I finally managed how to open them, and before I knew it...

I was there, seeing the slight of ol' Big Ben during the smog from the tiny window.

London.

Jolly loves, I'm in freaking London.