I'd left home seventeen hours earlier, and was moving for most of it. I crossed the border the night before, and only slept for five hours while folded into a greyhound bus.
Outside the terminal in a city that I haven't seen in eighteen years, I guess which direction is east, and start to walk. It's five thirty in the morning.
Thirty seconds later, this is what I see.
Chicago is my kind of town.
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