The Hancock

"Agnes party of 25, right this way please." Frankie, a high pitched middle-aged man with a shaved head, led a train of college students around the tables of murmuring tourists. A fray of stilettos, Adidas sweatshirts, brown ties and black-on-green suits littered the Signature Room.

"Ok, let's put ten at this table and ten here." Frankie pulled at his collar and back-handed his wet forehead. "I'll get you started on drinks when the rest of your party arrives."

Agnes looked up and down the table and cramped her cheek. "I think I'm just gonna put my jacket back on."

"Oh, I love black dress."

"Thanks, it just came in."

Frankie sauntered back, squeezing past a table of yuppies. "Let's get you started on drinks." He flung a page over on his pad. "What will you have sir?"

"Water."

"Water's just fine? And what will you have?"

"Water."

"Ok. And you mam?"

"Uh, water no ice."

"Is anyone having anything other than ice water?"

"Um do you coffee?" Martin, a wide-shouldered young man with red scruff, interrupted.

"Of course. It says that you're all having the Buffet, but I'll bring out a couple menus, just in case anyone wants anything else." A Latino bus boy poured drinks from a foggy steel pitcher.

Wine glasses filled with ice reflected sunlight onto the cotton tablecloth as the group strew throughout the restaurant. A few boys with half-tucked collared shirts walked toward the couples' tables lining the titanic windows of the black steel skyscraper. A pretty Asian girl wearing a red Chanel dress and a long pearl necklace shot her eyes past her naked back. Sighing through her nose, she stared at her American boyfriend as he chewed his lip.

Stepping over the air vents, the boys stared down the X-bracing of the Hancock. Pale blue water of Lake Michigan mirrored the flat side of Chicago. North Lake Shore Drive was blinded by the afternoon sun. Tiny street cleaners swept across Navy Pier. The Ferris wheel squeezed its brakes as leafless gusts of wind wind drove fanny pack crowds into Starbucks.

"Aqui Amigo." Johnny a white kid wearing a small gray vest and a capital V-neck motioned with his hand. The bus boy fumbled a couple plates and placed a turkey club in front of Johnny. Leaning over to the him he whispered,

"Que pura guapa tienes, eh."

"Es mi prima, che," Johnny laughed...