It’s a cold, windy day

In Chicago, Illinois

The bitter cold paints my face red

My fingers,

Frozen like icicles,

No longer protected

By my soft woolen gloves

Looking ahead,

I see myself

And the tall buildings behind me

Reflected on a giant mirror

A shiny, glowing bean

With the faces of hundreds

plastered across the surface

The curves and dips

Within the statue

Distort the breathtaking view

The muffled speech of passers-by

And ear-piercing car horns

Are all I can hear

As I walked closer

To the enormous reflection of the city,

The crunch of the newly fallen snow

Fills my ears

I can faintly hear

“It’s time to go,”

From my mother

As she grabbed my hand tight

I was loaded into the banana- yellow taxi,

With my mother by my side

The smell of cigarettes seeping into the back

From the driver who had just dove into a new pack

“Where are you guys headed?”

The driver called

As the Bean slowly faded from view