My favorite time of day.

Every Tuesday and Thursday, roughly around 11 in the morning, I go on vacation. I find my seat next to an odd smelling homeless man and a power hungry business woman, and simply gaze out the window as the south-bound, brown-line train and I pirouette rhythmically through the second city. Acting as my own tour guide as we go soaring past the sites, (the Sears Tower, the Art Institute, the Bean) I am unfailingly amazed by this city, although it still remains the same city I saw just yesterday. The driver announces that we are making our descent to Library and Lake Street, where the current climate is, well windy of coarse. From a city bound expedition to a whole new world, I enter my Introduction to Islam class, where I travel to the middle eastern world, a world of religious exploration and a world of turmoil. For an hour and a half, I am surrounded by the ever growing Muslim community cerca 622 and my tour guide is the Prophet Mohamed himself. When the clock strikes 1:20 my glass slipper disappears and I am thrusted back into a city that smells of garbage and cigarettes. As I make my way back to the train station I notice that a bullish smile finds it way to my face with the simple reminder that I get to make this journey all over again next week.