In a Smokey Room.

A deputation of noted citizens appeared at Cole's recently. They came looking for Your Old Buddy Foz.

The distinguished gentlemen entered Coleman Brice's establishment on a bright Tuesday afternoon, hats in hand, and inquired after Your Buddy. Travis Bartender nodded wordlessly to the back of the bar.

They walked quietly, tentatively, to the room that was dense with cigar smoke and piano music.

Old Leon "Smoked Salmon" Strokes sat at the piano, working out some new chords to his old Brian Eno bit. He stopped briefly to sip from his whiskey on the rocks and returned to the keyboard.

Old Patrick and Young Leah mulled over a brace of Domain DuPage pints, mooning the way young lovers do.

Your Pal Foz sat quietly at at a back table, dressed down to his shirtsleeves, his tie at half-mast, and his Martini half-full. A thoroughly marked-up bar napkin spread out before him seemed ready to fall apart under the burden of fractured verse and bourbon-soaked tears. Tears shed for The People.

Around Your Trusted Friend hovered his usual security entourage of fourteen roller derby thugs. They rolled toward this deputation of gentlemen with a significance that could not be ignored, and the linoleum floor creaked ominously under 112 dangerous wheels.

With a wave of his hand Your Hero calmed the Paladinas, and they grudgingly made way for the intimidated band of worthies. They approached the table, glancing uncomfortably at the Bar Napkin of Truth spread out on the table before Old Foz.

Their news was not new, nor was their mission unexpected. Mayor Richard M. Daley had finally determined that the City of Chicago was too much for him. The reigns of power had grown warm for the now-old Young Pharaoh, and he was fleeing for greener pastures.

What then, for the The People? Who would lead? Who would assume the mantel, take up the heavy burden, and bring peace and prosperity to a city groaning under The Heel of tyranny? Bloodshot eyes, and heavy, hopeless hearts turned to the one Man who could bring a new dawn. A dawn made hopeful with a glow golden as the bourbon stains on Coleman Brice's table.

Your Pal listened quietly to the humbled representatives of a damaged populace. He thanked them for their trust, and promised a response after mature consideration of his responsibilities, his family, his correspondence, and his art.

Old Foz returned to his bar napkin as the roller girls quickly guided the deputation of noted citizens to the door.

What will be Old Foz's decision? Will he accept nomination and election for Mayor of Chicago? Will The People's pleas bend his heart toward taking up the Great and Grim Responsibility of governance? Is there a bar on the fifth floor of City Hall?

On the answers to these questions the fate of the city depends.

Until that Decision is taken, Your Special Friends in Foz the Hook will continue to shake the world of Cole's every Wednesday night in conjunction with the hottest comics in Chicago at Cole's Comedy Open Mic. Join Adam Burke, Cameron Esposito(!), Mo Welch, Matt Slater, and so many others at Cole's tonight.

Foz the Hook starts the amazing set at 8:45 or 9:00 (depending on The List), and Adam tickles your psyche at 9:15 or 9:30 (depending on The List).

So join us at Cole's tonight.

FtH can neither confirm nor deny at this time, as consistent with our well known, and publicly expressed, policies (and opinions) whether Your Pal Foz will be, or currently is, the mayor of Chicago.

Now let us mix Martinis and drink to the health of The Republic!