Does the Red Eye's Chicago Really Exist? I Kind of Doubt It.

The sheriff slapped an eviction notice on my neighbor's front door this morning. Some of my co-workers qualify for food stamps because their wages are so low. A friend of mine, a man in his early 60s, lost his home last year. He now lives in the attic of his late brother's widow's house.

Yet each morning, I pick up a copy of the Red Eye, and read about a city I an scarcely believe exists. The Red Eye's Chicagoans are all young and pretty and gainfully employed. They dress in vintage clothes and sport kick-ass, full-sleeve tattoos. They spend summers sipping craft beers at rooftop bars and rocking out at Pitchfork and Lalapalooza. They try never to miss a Cubs game, and spend every evening exploring the hippest new restaurants with their hippest new friends. They are people who may worry about fulfillment, but never about survival.

My question is, do these people really fucking exist?

In a sense, I suppose they do. But I don't believe their lives are as carefree and happy as the Red Eye makes out. I bet a lot of them also worry about losing their jobs. I bet a lot of them also sweat about being able to pay their bills. I bet a lot of them know, in their heart of hearts, they will never, ever get those student loans paid off in full.

I wonder if, in a hundred years, historians will look at the Red Eye and laugh. With the benefit of hindsight, they'll have to know nobody ever really had it that good.