I've been thinking a lot about a video I saw recently of the late, great Chicago artist Tony Fitzpatrick, who died last month. In the clip, Tony waxes philosophic about what makes Chicago unique and what makes those of us that call it home special.

And while he's got a lot to say about it in the short clip (including an amazing line about how people that want to be rich "use Preparation H for lip gloss"), the part that has been stuck in my head for the last few days is when he says that Chicago is a boxer:

They don't have the best skills, they don't have the best snap on their jab. But you get to the twelfth round, and you look across the ring and that guy's still there.

As word came out this week that Greg Bovino—the ringleader of the attack on this region that's been underway since September—would likely be departing Chicago along with 250 of his goons shortly, I thought about that boxer Tony talked about: Bovino looked across the ring, after two months of relentless assault, and we were still there. Whistles blowing, cars honking, everyone scared and nobody scared, lined up, ready to go another round.

Everyone I know is exhausted from the last two months. Exhausted from rushing out on the ding of a Signal notification, exhausted from standing in front of schools keeping watch, exhausted from confronting heavily armed masked agents in tactical gear with nothing more than a whistle around your neck. Exhausted—so exhausted—from being witness to neighbors, friends, and family going missing. Over 3000 people, according to the goons' own count. One was too many.

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