THE CUBS WIN THE WORLD SERIES. (Even now, it feels strange to type.) We bust out of our apartment and race towards Division St, where we’ve high-fiving cops and passing cars, hugging crying strangers, dancing in the street, and taking part in Champagne showers outside the local liquor store as the crowd is sprayed in a glorious celebration.
The energy is electric, but fleeing. We keep roaming down the street, screaming, and high-fiving at least 100 people, trying to hold onto the feeling for as long as possible. We duck into neighborhood sports bar Anthem, where the energy is waning, we scream “Cubs” and watch it pick back up before it dips back down to Earth.
We take as many photos as possible, including one of the TV that is declaring the news that the Cubs have won the World Series, never wanting the feeling to end. But eventually the bars close and we walk home, the street largely silent except for a few celebratory horns still blaring off in the distance.