Illinois, December 1999.

Picture this: a small-town boy home from Los Angeles, taking a break from my acting career, to spend New Year’s with my family.

I’ll always regret not spending Christmas with them. But there was a lot of conflict. Seems like that’s all my life is now; conflict after conflict. It’s my own fault, of course. Doesn’t mean I can’t be mad about it. At least I’m here now, to celebrate the turn of the century with my parents and my siblings. You can take the man out of the city, not the city out the man.

My flight got into Chicago late, so I’m staying the night here before driving to Highland Park in the morning. Then tomorrow is the big day. The last day of the century. And my god, when I was younger, I feared this day; I feared it would change the world. I wasn’t sure if I’d survive to see it, but I did. Or, I have so far. The last few years, that fear slowly wore off of me.

But when I’m back in Chicago, I feel it; another version of me. Tonight, I wave goodbye to the end of beginning.

I check into my hotel. For the longest time, I just stand in the room in silence, as if waiting for a sudden epiphany about what I’m supposed to do. As if the silence will grow loud enough to form words. And then, when I can no longer take the silence and its obliviousness, I decide to go for a walk.

A walk in Chicago, at night, alone? Great idea, Gary.