Chi-city.

 I still get these microvisions when I listen to music. Some of them aren't so clear. Always little stories hidden behind the notes strung together in a syncopated dance.

Lonely man walking the Chicago streets as a torrential downpour lays its rest on the city streets. His feet lingering to and fro as his mind is reminiscing over the long work day. Lips eager for hard whiskey to soothe his soul.

Year is 1934. Sounds of a distant jazz saxophone piercing the symphony of rain and teardrops as he reminisces over a woman who seems like more of a distant dream than an actual memory.
The poison sting of the whiskey entering the decrepit tomb of his mouth was akin to the viper kisses of his sweet love from yesteryear.

Even behind the satisfied smile of a drunken man's countenance, no one could see the rainstorm that dwells in his heart. A man who sacrificed himself to the vibrant colors of his dreams rather than accepting the harsh reality of a black, white, and grey type of life. But even so, the colorful displays are events only he can see. Once again he returns to the solitude of his inner chamber, floating towards his bed with radio blaring the same sounds of melancholy jazz mixed with soothing white noise.