as i looked around at the weeds poking up through a curb stone , and at a 1975 pontiac grand pix , body side-molding long-ago lost , sitting stolidly at said curb , questions presented themselves : was west signal park , in fact , a wrongly-accused conflict-diamond of a chicago hamlet , waiting to be plucked from its dingy carter-era , apnea-style sleep , thence to be shined up and placed on the finger of a public hungry for yet another dimly apprehended meal , tiny tea-light flickering playfully against an original brick wall released of its history from a dry-walled coffin ?