July 15, 1968
by Amy
I don't want to work on the Permitting Committee. It brings up terrible memories from April, when we all got screwed by Dick Daley and his merry men. I don't want to deal with forms, the Sanitation Department, meetings with squares and city men who scowl at me. I don't think that's too much to ask. Viva la revolucion, except when it comes to that. My wrist hurts every time a rainstorm comes close to Chicago. April sucked, and I don't want a repeat of it.
Glasses tells me, quietly, that it won't be a repeat. He's trying to give me confidence, despite every appearance that we're being blocked by the city. Again.
Little Toe from the Yips called to meet me in the park. She asked me how things were going at my end, because the Yips are having problems with the city. She wanted to know if Glasses would be open to going in together and dealing with Daley that way. I had no idea. Glasses can get weird about the Yips. He's often said that he doesn't like their rhetoric. The Yips fuck with reality too much, and bureaucrats can't handle it.
Not everyone feels that way. I certainly don't, though I can understand it. Dad doesn't get their sense of humor. He thinks they're juvenile.
Glasses said that Tom will probably go over to talk to the Yips. Maybe even the city itself since no one is returning our phone calls. He's also getting a jump on contacting the ACLU. They have a preliminary meeting tonight. Just in case....
